


Dark Lords Ascending

by tsubasa_no_ryu (sylvaine)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Dark, Animagus, Dark Magic, Dark!Harry, Gen, Meditation, Memory Magic, Name Changes, Paganism, Parseltongue, Podfic Welcome, Survival Training, Translation Welcome, Vampires, Vegetarians & Vegans, Wandless Magic, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000, evil!Harry, rationalization of mass murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-12-18
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvaine/pseuds/tsubasa_no_ryu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort thought he was eliminating the one person who could defeat him when he attacked the Potters. But there is a far stronger prophecy at work than the one made by Sybil Trelawney... beware of your Saviour, Wizards of Britain...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My sadly abandoned Harry Potter epic. I kept meaning to come back to it, change those things that were bothering me about it and actually finish it, but as it is it's not going to happen, so I'm just putting what I've got up on AO3. If you'd rather read on FFNet it's [there](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4724007/1/Dark_Lords_Ascending) also.
> 
> Dialogue in italics is generally parseltongue.

The little four-year-old tossed and turned in his sleep, finding no true rest from the slanted red eyes watching him relentlessly. They weren't malevolent, but the boy subconsciously knew they were the herald of great changes in his life.

Suddenly, still asleep, the boy sat up straight, his eyes wide open, seeing not the inside of the cupboard under the stairs with its dust and spiderwebs, but instead a high mountain, its top obscured by thick, swirling clouds. He seemed to be floating, for below him was spread out the entirety of the British Isles. How he knew this was a mystery, for he had never seen any map in his life, but a mystery that he did not question.

His dream - or was it a dream? - brought him up, higher and higher, above the clouds, to the top of the high mountain. The sky was dark, not a star to be seen, only a blood-red moon sending its sickly light over the scene.

Three men in long, black robes stood together on the top of the mountain, red light glinting off jet-black hair and elongated fangs, their bright green eyes shining with a light of their own. Then the tallest of the three spoke in a deep, resounding voice, the words he uttered burning themselves deep into the boy's mind:

"A millennium ago, Morgana of the Fae made a prophecy:

_'A thousand years the Light will rule  
The "Dark Lords" weak and easy to kill.  
The British Isles will prosper for a time  
But balance is needed for harmony sublime.  
Three Serpent Lords bring th' Reign of Night:  
The Saviour, Heir, and ancient Curse -  
Can't kill each other with any force.  
Entwined, united they will conquer and kill  
To rule the Isles with iron will.  
  
These signs will tell the Lords of Dark:  
Black hair, green eyes, the power of th' impure  
And once turned vampire, eyes like pools of blood,  
Oh ye who walk by Day remember well  
The Three who bring despair to you at th' Death Bell's knell.' "_

The man fell silent, the eyes of all three bleeding into red. The boy reached towards them, strangely comforted by the ominous words, but just as he was about to touch the robes of the man who had spoken - a flash of bright green light, a female voice screaming, and Harry awoke with a gasp, the words of the prophecy still ringing in his ears.


	2. First Contact

A black snake lay hidden between the branches of a purple-flowered rhododendron on a hot midsummer's day. Though no-one was there to note it, this was rather odd, for neither were Black Whip Snakes native to any part of Europe north of southern Austria, nor did they normally have slanted, red eyes. These eyes were intently watching the little boy working in the garden. The child couldn't have been older than four, yet he was wielding a spade almost twice his size, digging a wide hole in the loamy earth. Deeming it deep enough, he walked towards the gardening shed and hefted up one of the potted roses standing in the sparse shade of the shed, barely managing to drag it all the way to the hole he had dug at the opposite end of the garden. Panting heavily, he set the thorny bush on the ground next to the hole, wiping the sweat out of his eyes with a grimy hand. His eyes crept along the fence with something akin to despair shining in them. He had planted only half of the roses so far and it had taken him the better part of the day. Sighing wearily, the boy cast one fleeting look at the alluring shade, then stood on the rim of the pot and tried to pull out the rose bush as he balanced precariously on the edge. A few seconds later, he did manage to pull it out, but overbalanced and fell to the ground, the young plant falling heavily on top of him. The boy groaned and pushed the rose off, rolling on his side and wincing as he touched the scratches the thorns had left on his face. The snake grinned, as far as such an expression was possible for a snake, and slithered out from under the rhododendron. The boy looked up at the quiet sound of dry scales sliding over crackling leaves and smiled. _"Hello,"_ he said softly, _"I haven't seen you here before. My name's Harry. What's yours?"_

The snake flicked out its tongue, tasting the intent of the boy, before it hissed in answer: _"I am known by many names. You-know-Who, He Who Must Not Be Named, the Dark Lord, Mordechai… you may call me Voldemort."_

Harry blinked. " _That's a lot of names. Most snakes I know have much simpler names, like Ssussuri, or Ssindi."_ He blinked once more as he came to a realisation. _"Oh. You're not a normal snake, are you?"_

The snake hissed in laughter. _"You are a bright little boy! I am, indeed, not what one would call a 'normal snake;' usually I choose a more humanoid form."_

Harry wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar word. _"'Humanoid'?"_

 _"It means 'human-like shape',"_ the snake explained.

 _"You can change your shape?"_ Harry asked sceptically.

_"Yes. You too have that ability; you merely aren't able to utilise it."_

Harry looked confused. _"I'm sorry, I didn't really understand what you said,"_ he said contritely.

The snake sighed. _"No, it is I who must apologise. I forget that I am talking to a young child. I meant that you will also be able to change your form one day."_

_"Really?"_ Harry's eyes lit up, but then he scowled. _"I'm not that young! I'm almost six! I'm just small for my age!"_

The snake bowed its head in admission. _"Forgive me, I did not know that."_

Harry accepted the apology and returned to the more interesting subject. _"But isn't changing your shape m-magic? Uncle Vernon always says that m-magic doesn't exist!"_

_"Well, your uncle is a fool,"_ the snake said derisively. _"Why do you think you can talk to snakes? That's not normal is it?"_

Harry's face fell. " _You think I'm a freak?"_ he whispered.

 _"No, I_ know _that you are_ special," the serpent emphasised. _"Only two people alive today have the ability to speak to snakes: You and me. Being different does not mean you are a freak; people who call you spiteful names like that usually know that you are actually better than them. They just don't want you to find out that they are scared of you, so they say untrue things about you to make you feel inferior to them."_

Harry stood silently for a moment as he digested that speech, leaning on his spade as he thought about what the snake had said. _"That makes sense,"_ he said slowly, _"but how am I better than them? I'm just a little boy who can hardly reach the sideboard in the dining room. And does inferior mean 'worse'?"_

_"Yes, that is what inferior means,"_ the snake acknowledged. _"And your relatives have every reason to fear you. You have power in you which they can only dream of. And on top of that you have a lot more power at your disposal than most of our kind."_

_"What do you mean, 'our kind'?"_ Harry said nervously, _"You don't sound as if you mean Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia, or Dudley."_

At that moment a horse-faced woman stuck her head out of the kitchen window of the house at the front of the garden and saw Harry standing around unproductively. "Boy!" she barked, her horse-like features displaying annoyance, "don't you dare slack off! I want those roses planted by tonight!"

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia," Harry said quickly and turned back to the rose bush that was standing forlornly beside its designated hole.

Petunia gave him one last contemptuous glance and returned to cooking dinner for her family.

The snake shook its head. _"No, I definitely do not mean those people,"_ it said. _"I mean those who can use magic."_

Harry stopped what he was doing once again to stare at the snake. _"Use magic?"_ he whispered.

Instead of answering, the snake jabbed its head at the still unplanted rose bush. Harry gasped in awe as the fir tree suddenly rose up a few inches into the air, moved to the left until it was floating over the hole, and dropped in. He was even more surprised when, at another jab, the next hole appeared seemingly out of nowhere with a neat little mound of earth piled up beside it. By the time the snake had finished its little demonstration, Harry's eyes were as wide as saucers. _"Wow!"_ he breathed. _"Can you-"_ he stopped timidly, then tried again. _"Could you teach me that? Please?"_

The snake smirked internally, having led the unwitting boy to exactly the point where it wanted him to be. _"Of course,"_ it replied gallantly. _"That is what I came here for."_

XXX

In record time Harry - with the snake's help - finished planting the thorny roses along the fence at the back of the garden. When they were done, the boy looked at their handiwork in admiration. _"I've never done the gardening this quick - or this neat,"_ he said happily. _"Perhaps I won't have to do the washing up tonight!"_

 _"Don't count on it,"_ the snake said wryly. _"What time are you usually sent to bed?"_

_"At seven."_

_"Good. Then we can begin the extensive introductions then."_

Harry blushed and mumbled something unintelligible.

 _"I beg your pardon?_ " the snake asked.

" _I sleep in the cupboard under the stairs,"_ Harry murmured. " _I don't think you want to go there."_

 _"Don't worry, we'll change it to suit our needs,_ " the snake promised. " _I will stay with you till then, if that is not a problem."_

_"No, not at all,_ " Harry assured quickly, glad somebody actually _wanted_ to stay in his company. _"But how can we hide you from my relatives?"_

The snake looked at him critically. _"If I wrap around your middle, I would be hidden under your t-shirt,"_ it said finally.

Harry nodded to show his consent. The snake slid up his leg and under his t-shirt, wrapping itself snugly around Harry's torso. Harry giggled slightly at the feel of the scales on his skin. Fitted out in this way, Harry entered the house and spent the next two hours working in the kitchen, doing everything from slicing the vegetables over laying the table in the dining room to washing up with a short break in-between to snatch a quick bite while his relatives were having dinner. Finally, at quarter to seven, he was sent to the bathroom to wash and brush his teeth. He quickly completed all the necessary ablutions and crawled into his cupboard. As soon as he had sat down on his mattress, the snake slipped out from under his t-shirt and ran its head along the door. The edge of the door glowed briefly with a bluish light while the snake slid along the other three walls of the cupboard, which shone orange and expanded. Harry gasped as he suddenly found himself sitting in a cosy room ill-lit by the dim light coming in through the cracks in the door. At an unnoticeable command from the snake, an orb of light formed between its eyes and floated to the middle of the room, bathing it in a cool white glow. _"Won't they be able to see the light?"_ Harry asked worriedly.

 _"No,"_ the snake replied, conjuring up two comfortable armchairs. _"I spelled the door not to let any sound or light escape this room."_

The more Harry saw of magic, the more practical it seemed. He wanted to learn that particular spell soon, Harry decided. And the one for the light; it would be nice to be able to draw when he was locked in the cupboard as a punishment again. Not that he minded darkness. He liked the dark. How could anyone be afraid of it? It was comfortable, embracing him, protecting him. Never something to be feared.

 _"Please, sit,"_ the snake told Harry, causing him to look up and gasp in shock. In front of his eyes, the snake was transforming into a black-haired man of about twenty with aristocratic features who was wearing strange dress-like clothing of a curiously _fluid_ black material. The only thing that remained of the snake were the slanted red eyes that would have seemed demonic to any other human. Harry merely thought the strange glow emanating from them was comforting. In shock, Harry sat down heavily on the edge of one armchair while Voldemort seated himself comfortably in the other.

 _"I have something to tell you which is - well, it might come as a shock to you,"_ Voldemort began hesitantly.

Harry nodded and waited to find out what it was that would shock him - apart from the whole magic thing of course. But no answer was forthcoming. Voldemort seemed lost in thought, and Harry was too shy to speak up.

 _"Do you know how your parents died?"_ Voldemort asked finally.

_"Yes. They died in a car crash."_

Voldemort barely restrained himself from laughing out loud. He would not stoop so low as to laugh at a young boy who after all only knew only what his family had told him.

 _"No, they did not die in a car crash,"_ he corrected, _"they were wizards, could work magic, and wizards don't usually use muggle contrivances like cars."_

Harry didn't understand half the words that Voldemort had used, but he did understand one thing. _"You mean- you mean my family lied to me?"_ he asked quietly.

 _"Yes, I'm afraid they did,"_ Voldemort confirmed, _"they seem to have lied to you at every stage of your life._ " His jaw tightened in anger. " _They have forfeited the right to call themselves your family!"_

_"I'm sorry? I don't understand -"_

Voldemort forced himself to calm down. " _What I mean is that they have no right to call themselves family because of the way they acted towards you."_

_"So - I have no family left?_ " Harry asked teary-eyed.

 _"You will build yourself your own,"_ Voldemort assured, _"After all, a vampire can only function for so long without a family before he turns insane…"_

_"Vampire?"_ Harry repeated in astonishment.

Voldemort sighed. He hadn't meant to tell Harry that yet… he needed to brush up on his control once more. He flashed his fangs at Harry and said, _"yes, I am a vampire. I used to be a boy like you… and one day, you will be a vampire too."_

Harry stared at Voldemort for a moment in disbelief. Him, a vampire? Then his eyes glazed over and he murmured dreamily, "Black hair, green eyes, the power of th' impure/And once turned vampire, eyes like pools of blood…"

Voldemort only just managed to stop a gasp escaping from between his lips. Harry was only six, and he already knew about the prophecy? He was more powerful than Voldemort had thought… Voldemort himself had only started having those dreams once he came to Hogwarts…

Harry blinked. _"Where did those words come from? What do they mean?"_ he wondered.

Voldemort quickly shoved thoughts of his past aside and concentrated on the present. _"They are part of an ancient prophecy,"_ he told Harry, _"a prophecy that concerns the both of us. And I assume you heard these words in a dream."_

Suddenly Harry's eyes lit up. _"I remember!"_ he gasped. _"Three men, on a mountaintop… and the one in the middle said something…" h_ e screwed up his eyes in concentration. _"Something about dark lords… and three people who would bring the dark back to the British Isles?"_ he looked at Voldemort questioningly.

Voldemort nodded. _"Yes, that is right. Try to remember the full prophecy the next time you dream about it."_

_"Okay. But don't you know it?"_

_"I do,"_ Voldemort confirmed, _"but think of this as practice. It is good to remember your dreams."_

Harry nodded thoughtfully, then he remembered something else. _"This dream you're talking about… it often ends with a bright green light - and a woman screaming. Do you know what that means?"_

Voldemort slumped in his chair. _"Yes. It shows you how your parents died."_

_"Oh."_ Harry looked down at his hands shyly, asking in a quiet voice, _"so what did happen to my parents_ _?"_

Voldemort sighed heavily. He braced himself and said, _"I killed them."_ He closed his eyes and waited for the certain outburst. When it didn't come, he hesitantly opened one eye and peeked at Harry. The boy had gone white and was slowly inching towards the door, his eyes wide open with fear. _"Harry,"_ Voldemort called softly. Said boy jumped. _"Please, Harry, will you let me explain before you run away?"_ Voldemort asked. Harry studied him for a time, then nodded slowly and crawled back into his armchair. Voldemort leaned forward, his arms resting heavily on his thighs. He looked at Harry intently, almost pleadingly. _"You see, Harry, six years ago, Wizarding Britain was in the middle of a war. I was trying to take over the world and kill everyone who was not of pure magical blood."_

_"Why?"_

_"Muggles have no place in this world. Darwinism clearly states the law of 'survival of the fittest.' The muggles' time is over. The magical races are destined to take over and rule this earth without destroying it in the process."_

_"I don't understand."_

_"Well, the short version is this: Wizards use magic, muggles use electricity and similar forms of energy. Magic is pure, right; it permeates all fibres of Mother Earth. Electricity and oil power is unnatural energy, taken from twisted life-forms. It does not belong on Gaia. It makes her sick. Wizards will heal Earth; muggles will only continue to destroy her."_

_"Then why did you kill my parents? They were wizards, were they not?"_

_"As I have told you before, a vampire without a family goes insane. Family is of utmost importance to us… if nothing else remains, the one who turned the vampire is seen as family. Unfortunately, I was young and foolish when I was turned, only concerned for power. I saw the bond I shared with my creator as a weakness and killed him at the first possible moment. The only reason I was able to defeat him was because he trusted me…"_ Voldemort sighed heavily. _"The moment I was free of any bonds and responsibilities, I went to the village where my estranged father lived with his parents and killed them all for rejecting my mother. Without any ties to keep me steady, I grew quickly insane, gathering pureblood followers around me and killing all that stood up to me or put even a toe out of line… despite them being of pure magical blood._

_"All too soon the wizards of Britain feared me to such an extent that they would not say my chosen name, but called me only "He Who Must Not Be Named" or "You-Know-Who. My followers wreaked havoc on muggle and wizarding settlings alike. All was set for me to assume absolute authority over the Isles. The one of my spies reported to me that a prophecy had been made - a prophecy that foretold the coming of one who would end my reign of terror…._

_"Two children fit the criteria of this prophecy - you and one other boy. I decided to dispose of this threat before it even emerged. I chose to kill you first, since one of your parents' friends was actually a spy of mine. On Halloween of 1981, I breached the wards around your house and killed both your parents. Though I did not realise it then, I did this out of mercy, for even through the haze of insanity my vampire subconscious insistently reiterated the importance of family and screamed at me that losing one's firstborn would be too hard a blow for anyone. Then, I shot the Killing Curse at you - that is the green light in your dream, by the way - but something went wrong. Instead of killing you, it rebounded and hit me."_

_"Then why aren't you dead?"_ Harry demanded.

 _"The Killing Curse works differently on vampires. It destroys a vampire's body and splits their soul into seven parts - seven is a number of power. The power inherent in a vampire's soul scatters the soul bits across a certain area, depending on the vampire's strength. My soul pieces were probably scattered across the whole of Britain. With just a seventh of my soul, I was not able to function. Then, five years later, pure dumb luck led one of my soul pieces onto the path of another, and they joined. With two sevenths of my soul, I was able to regain my body, and my mind. It was then that I remembered the dreams I had had while at Hogwarts - that's the wizarding school I went to - of the three who were destined to bring balance back to Britain. I had always suspected that I was one of these three, but it seemed I had accidentally tried to kill another of the Three. If you remember, one of the lines in the prophecy reads_ 'can't kill each other with any force.' _That was the reason I couldn't kill you, and I have spent all my time since then trying to find you."_

With that, Voldemort ended his tale. Harry contemplated what he had learned, trying to understand what it meant despite all the unfamiliar words that Voldemort had used. To distract himself from the admittedly monumental changes that would surely follow, he asked Voldemort about one small point in his tale. _"Why did you want power so badly?"_

Voldemort was surprised that Harry had remembered that little detail, but he obligingly answered. After all, he wasn't too sure what he would do if Harry rejected his destiny. _"Well, you see, my mother was a witch who was in love with a muggle who wanted nothing to do with her. She brewed a potion to make him fall in love with her and ran away with him. Her father and brother rejected her for consorting with a mere muggle, and when she stopped using the love potion on the muggle and he found out that she was a witch he left her in disgust. By that time, however, she was already pregnant with his child. With nowhere to go, she somehow managed to survive the streets of London until my birth. She gave birth to me at an orphanage and died very quickly after my birth, leaving me with nothing but my name - Tom Marvolo Riddle, Tom Riddle after my father and Marvolo after my grandfather."_ Voldemort's lips curled in disgust as he remembered that _hated_ name which he had shed so long ago.

_"I grew up in the orphanage where I had been born. It was not a good life. The strongest children got the most food, and the director favoured the girls. Add to that the strange things which always seemed to happen around me and that I was unusually small… well, I was something of a punching bag to the other orphans. I learned that the stronger you were, the better for you. Then I was admitted to Hogwarts and learned all about the wonderful world of magic… and the discrimination against all that were different, and the worthlessness of all that weren't of pure blood. I learned to hide my ignoble parents and I desired to become stronger than all of them, to prove to them that I was_ _better_ _than them. In short, I craved power, and the more I had, the more I wanted."_

_"So what's wrong with those who are not pure-blooded wizards then? Why did you have to hide who you were?"_

Voldemort sneered. _"Mudbloods are weak. They do not have the genetics necessary for truly powerful magics like the Dark Arts. And they endanger our society - the more mudbloods find out about our society, the more muggles find out about it. And the less_ they _know about us, the better. On top of that, mudbloods are often tempted to continue using all those muggle contrivances which they are used to, and we can't have that now, can we?"_

Harry scrunched up his nose. _"Well, couldn't you just tell them they should stop it because it hurts Mother Earth?"_

Voldemort made a disgusted sound. _"People never listen, Harry. They just continue doing what is most convenient until it is too late. Then they moan and groan about the 'good old days' without ever stopping to think what they could be_ doing _."_

Harry was silent for a moment, then said suddenly, _"Wasn't your father a muggle? But how can you be a Dark Lord if you are weak?"_

Voldemort fumed silently. He did not want to be reminded about that. _"True, my father was a filthy muggle," he finally ground out. "But I have been a vampire since I turned twenty-one. Vampires are by their very nature stronger than most. Also, the magic of the prophecy protected me from the weakness inherent in most, if not all, mudbloods. After all, as you said, how can a prophesied Dark Lord_ possibly _be weak?"_

Harry suddenly asked, _"You say you want to change the whole world and kill_ all - _muggles. But the prophecy - it says that we will_ 'rule the Isles with iron will.' _What of the rest of the world? Britain isn't the only place where muggles live…"_

_"Other Dark Lords must take over the other continents. But this coming millennium brings a time of great change; all who are worthy will feel the call, of that I am sure."_

_"And why only Dark Lords?_ " Harry demanded. _"What's wrong with light?"_

_"Nothing is wrong with the Light per se,"_ Voldemort answered, _"but most who declare themselves Light are too weak to do what is necessary if that means killing people. They ask, why should we kill all muggles? They are not all bad! They do not realise that muggles are committing a crime simply by_ existing,"

Harry didn't think that sounded quite right, but he said nothing. He did not want to anger a dangerous vampire who evidently had no qualms whatsoever about killing. He smiled at the thought. He liked blood for some reason, though most he had seen so far had been his own. He couldn't wait to become a vampire. Speaking of which-

" _Could you change me into a vampire_ now?" That would be brilliant; he could run away from his relatives, after all, blood did not cost anything-

 _"Unfortunately not,"_ Voldemort said with true regret. _"For one, do you really want to be a six-year-old for the rest of your life?_ " At Harry's shocked " _No_ _!_ " he continued, " _and secondly, Turning someone requires a transfusion of blood from human to vampire_ and _from vampire to human. All vampiric body fluids are deadly to a child's body. Until the child reaches magical maturity at the age of seventeen, its body is simply too weak to handle the transmutation of every single cell and the large influx of foreign magic. Most muggles face the same problem, which is why so few muggles survive the Turning. But of ten children who attempt the Turning, only one survives - if they are very, very lucky."_

Harry quickly decided to wait until he was seventeen. He didn't want to die just because he was too impatient to wait for something that was bound to happen sooner or later anyway. That night he realised one very important truth: People who rush blindly into unknown situations get hurt more often than not.

Voldemort seemed to have enough of the incessant questioning, for he got up out of his armchair and motioned for Harry to do the same before vanishing both chairs with a negligent wave of his hand. " _Until you start your first year at Hogwarts, I will train you. I believe we should start now."_

With that, he formed a knife out of the shadows in his hand and threw it at Harry. Harry just barely dodged it. _"Wait!"_ He called out as more knives came flying at him. _"What exactly will you train me in?"_

The barrage of knives stopped and those that had been flying towards Harry 'poofed' out of existence just before they hit his chest. Harry let out a relieved sigh. He _really_ didn't want to die yet.

 _"I shall train you in non-magical martial arts, starting with the art of dodging,"_ Voldemort answered with an amused twist to his lips. _"I will also initiate you into the universal mind-art known as meditation. Once you have progressed enough in both martial arts and meditation, I will start teaching you how to harness the magic both inside of you and in the environment. Remember this: the first is neutral magic, the second is considered Dark. I expect you to remember all that I tell you during training. Much of it will be vital for your stay at Hogwarts where you will hide behind a mask of the perfect supporter of the Light."_

Harry's face fell. This meant he wouldn't learn how to do his housework with magic until way later! He resolved to work hard at everything that Voldemort told him to do. Maybe he would learn it sooner then.

He suddenly felt a painful impact on his chest. _"Ow!"_ He looked down, but couldn't see any injury. Voldemort smirked and threw another shadow-knife at him. Entirely unprepared, Harry could only watch as the knife flew towards his chest - and vanished as it impacted, once more leaving no sign that it had ever existed. But it still hurt! Harry looked up at Voldemort questioningly.

 _"Shadow-forms will not harm you. I wouldn't want to kill my fellow Dark Lord during training, now would I? But it has to hurt, otherwise there would be no encouragement to dodge or otherwise deflect the missiles."_ With that, Voldemort threw a small, star-shaped blade at Harry. Harry managed to jump to the side just before it hit him and so the training continued until Harry felt absolutely dead on his feet.

When Voldemort saw this, he called an end to the training for that night and sent Harry to bed, promising to come again the next night to continue their training and introduce Harry to the art of meditation.

Lying in bed that night after Voldemort had left, Harry contemplated all that he had learned. He still felt slightly overwhelmed at all the revelations - he was a wizard, his 'family' had lied to him on _numerous_ occasions, and apparently he was destined to become a Dark Lord. Not to mention that one of his fellow Dark Lords had killed his parents. That was his biggest concern; he wasn't quite ready to forgive Voldemort for that just yet. After all, the death of his parents was the reason he was stuck with his relatives now. But - on the other hand, Voldemort _had_ said that he hadn't been quite sane back then. Harry wondered vaguely how having your soul split into seven - now six - parts affected your sanity. But then he remembered another important little detail. Hadn't Voldemort said that one of his parents' friends had betrayed them to Voldemort? At that moment Harry decided that he really couldn't blame Voldemort; deaths were a part of war after all. But that so-called 'friend' of his parents - Harry would ask Voldemort tomorrow who it had been. Though he was only six and had found out that very day that he was a Dark wizard, he resolved to hunt that traitor down once he knew enough to really hurt him. He was the one who had made the death of his parents possible, and he would pay. With that happy thought, Harry fell asleep with a peaceful smile gracing his face.


	3. The Test

It was another hot midsummer's day, and all the children were enjoying their freedom from the demands of school, whether on the playground, swimming, or simply catching up on some much-needed rest. All who could were outside, enjoying the sun and light breeze. No-one wanted to stay indoors in this stifling heat. No-one, that is, except for one slight eight-year-old boy who sat at a table in the library, reading a thick tome labelled _The Golden Bough vol. VIII_ while an enormous dictionary lay open to the left of said volume. The boy was busily taking notes in a bound exercise book that was already half-filled with his neat handwriting. Looking at his watch, the boy carefully bookmarked his page, put the book back on the shelf, then piled the exercise book on top of the dictionary and made his way to the front of the library, stopping on the way to leave the dictionary on its designated table. On his way out he smiled at the librarian and the normally stern librarian let a smile of her own flit across her face. Harry smirked internally. He had that librarian wrapped around his little finger just because he was such a serious and hard-working little boy who never presumed to fool around in the Sacred Halls of the Library, as he had dubbed them.

On his way back to Privet Drive, he stopped by at the grocer's and bought the pound of green beans that Petunia had ordered. He barely refrained from skipping on his way back. School was out, Petunia let him go to the library, Voldemort was training him - life was _good_.

As soon as he arrived at the house, he entered the kitchen and proceeded to make himself useful for the rest of the day, cleaning, cooking, and all sorts of little jobs around the house. After the Dursley's had dinner he cleared the table, put the dishes in the dishwasher, washed the pots and pans, and cleaned the kitchen. Once he was done with that he bade the Dursleys who were sitting in the living room watching TV a good night and went to the bathroom for his evening ablutions before retiring to his cupboard. Only then did he permit himself to relax. He changed into his pyjamas, sat down cross-legged on the end of the mattress where the ceiling was highest, and, closing his eyes, repeated what Voldemort had drilled into him: _Clear your mind._ He knew it was near impossible for someone at his stage to achieve this without a crutch. His favoured meditation technique was the breathing exercise, so he concentrated on the way his lungs filled with air, and then deflated, pushing all the air back out.

Gradually his breathing slowed and he entered into an almost trance-like state of relaxation. _I wonder when Voldemort will turn up today_ , he thought dreamily, but immediately admonished himself, clear your mind. He remembered some of the books he had read at the library that had seemed to explain meditation better than Voldemort had, and shook his head. _Those foolish muggles have no idea what they're talking about when they make it seem like meditation is the easiest thing in the world_ , he thought ruefully, then tried to drag his wandering mind back to the task at hand by force of will. _I can't wait for the day I can finally kill the Dursleys in the most painful way possible for misusing me as a house-elf_ … Naturally, it didn't work. It never did… and now his mind was fully distracted. Sighing, he fixed his attention once more on calming his breathing.

He opened his eyes only when he felt the slight disturbance in the air that meant that Voldemort had just arrived. Without saying a word, the serpent expanded the room and transformed into his human form. He shot a few rapid kunai at Harry, who leaped up from where he had been sitting just in time, the kunai harmlessly hitting the mattress instead of him. Nimbly he dodged the missiles thrown at him, almost crashing into someone as he dodged one of the darts. He whipped his head around, coming face-to-face with one of the featureless shadow-stalkers that Voldemort favoured when training Harry. It was about the average strength of a trained human, and as such possible for Harry to defeat, whereas Voldemort was a vampire with superhuman strength - Harry dodged the blow coming from the back. While he had been daydreaming, he had been surrounded by no less than ten shadow-stalkers. As the first one lunged at him, he kicked it in the face, breaking its nose - which would have been very painful for a human - and while that one was distracted, he whirled around and smashed the windpipe of the one behind him with the side of his hand. He spun around again to hit another one in the face with his fist, tripped a fourth so that it fell down, jumped on the fallen one's head to smash its skull and elbowed the one creeping up behind him in the guts, then grabbed the two in front of him, bashed their heads together with a satisfying "crunch" and kneed another one in the groin. The first one to attack had by now recovered from the broken nose and tried to jump on his back to strangle him, but Harry simply ducked and the would-be assailant sailed over his head and crashed into another, effectively incapacitating both for the time being. Another shadow-stalker attacked him, but he kicked that one in the face so hard that his spine snapped. Two of the ones he had hurt but not killed charged him from both sides, so Harry thrust two fingers into the eye of one and jabbed the other one in exactly the place where the central nerve was, making him unable to move. Then he walked around his fallen opponents, efficiently breaking all their necks to make sure they wouldn't pose a threat to him anymore. At that moment, a silent _crucio_ from Voldemort hit him. Harry ground his teeth to keep from crying out. This was part of his training - enduring the most intense pain for as long as possible. Harry knew the theory behind that - retreat into your mind and even the most intense torture won't affect you. But the pain of the Cruciatus was no physical pain - the reason it was labelled as an Unforgivable by the British Ministry of Magic was because there was no was no way to escape the pain, for the Cruciatus attacked the pain centre in the brain directly. There was nothing for it but to endure the agony as best as you could. Harry distracted himself from the pain with thoughts like these for as long as possible, but finally the sensation overwhelmed him and he screamed, a hoarse yell that left his throat sore from the abuse.

The pain stopped abruptly. Slowly Harry opened his eyes - which he had screwed hut during the ordeal - and looked around blearily as he gradually got up. His eyes wouldn't focus properly and his whole body felt numb, but he knew that this would quickly pass. The after-effects of the Cruciatus vanished remarkably quickly, the mind recovering from the shock when it got the message from the nerves that nothing was hurting. He looked at Voldemort questioningly. "Four minutes three seconds," the vampire answered the unspoken question. "You have done very well. Even my most loyal Death Eaters could never manage more than three minutes." Harry was hard-pressed not to beam at this compliment. He was better than Voldemort's most loyal followers! He was _finally_ starting to be good enough for his role as the prophecy dictated. What kind of Dark Lord could not endure a little pain, after all?

Voldemort threw a sword at him and Harry caught it reflexively. A second sword - one that would suppress Voldemort's strength down to the levels of a very strong human - appeared in Voldemort's right hand and the two started duelling without delay. As they fought, Voldemort barked: _"First record of wizards?"_ And Harry immediately shot back: _"5423 BCE."_

_"Era of the Wizard-Pharaohs?"_

_"3420 to 1201 BCE."_

_"Wizard-Emperor dynasties in Japan?"_

_"610 to 1101 CE."_

_"First Goblin-Wizard Wars in Britain?"_

_"710 to 714 CE."_

_"Last true Dark Lord of the British Isles?"_

_"Morgana of the Fae, balanced with Merlin the Light Lord, 510 to 570 CE."_

_"First Council of Dark Lords?"_

_"200 BCE."_

_"Participants?"_

_"Lady Dolores of Europe, Lord Tsukiyomi of the Japanese Isles, Emperor Xian-Zhu of continental Asia, Sultan Hamir of the Orient, and the Dark Lord and Lady of India who assumed the names of their patron gods, Shiva and Kali."_

_What happened in 1623 CE?"_

_"The first anti-vampire law was passed by the British Ministry of Magic."_

_"Only known family of Dark Lords in history?"_

_"The Japanese family now known as the Uchiha Clan."_

_"How come Morgana of the Fae lived in the 6th Century, yet she made the prophecy that speaks of us a thousand years ago?"_

Harry hesitated and Voldemort's sword was suddenly at his throat. _"You're dead,_ " Voldemort said softly. Then he felt the cold point of a dagger under his arm. " _You too,"_ Harry replied just as quietly.

_"You cheated."_

_"Yes,"_ Harry replied blithely. _"Why should I not press my advantage just because it's not 'honourable'?"_

Voldemort laughed and lowered his sword. _"You passed, Harry. Now we will begin the second part of your education. Review what you know about the usage of magic."_

Harry's eyes lit up at the prospect of finally studying the practical aspects of magic, but he controlled his urge to jump up in excitement and instead started recounting the basics of magical theory.

_"Magic is, in essence, energy in its purest form. As such, all things on Earth have magic in them, whether they can use this magic or not. Even stones are infused with magic. In Earth Herself, magic is not distributed equally. Instead, magic flows from one place to another in streams, collecting in so-called nodes; often magical communities are built on these. Hogwarts is situated on such a node, for instance. Most witches and wizards are drawn to these places without knowing exactly why._

_"Magic in plants and rocks tends to be spread equally throughout the entire body. Animals and humanoid creatures, on the other hand, have a magical core that is, as the name suggests, at the core of their being. This refers not to the physical body, but to the astral body, of which the mind of sentient beings is but a small part. Some sentient creatures have, in addition to the magical core, pathways leading from the magical core into the mind and the physical body, which enables them to utilise this magic. These are commonly known as magical creatures or, more politely, magical beings. Most species are either entirely magical or entirely non-magical, the only known exception being the humans._

_"Even among the fully magical races, magical cores can vary in size, as can the size of the pathways from magic to body. These two factors along with training decide how much an individual can do with his magic. Some wizards can barely levitate a feather, while others can utilise their magic in an infinite variety of ways._

_"Magic can be employed in various ways; these differ mainly in how the magic is directed._

_"First of all, magic can be directed through emotions. Wizard children often display this when they experience strong emotions. Wizards call this accidental magic. While rather powerful, it is nearly impossible to control, as emotions themselves are very uncontrolled in both their intensity and frequency._

_"Second of all, one can focus the magic through an item specially constructed for this task. Wizards use wands made of wood - a good magic conductor - and a core taken from a magical creature to amplify the magic coming directly from the caster. The use of wands includes the use of spells, specific words - whether spoken or merely thought - that help direct the intention of the caster. Most wizards use this method, and it is very safe, as the magic must first go through the wand before it is released. It is also excellent for magically weaker wizards, as the magical core of the wand enhances the wizard's magic and thus enables him to cast stronger spells than he normally would. Other common focuses are precious stones and metals as well as crystals._

_"The third method of employing magic is through force of will. This method requires a great control over the mind, as one has to be able to concentrate all one's thoughts on the task at hand. This method is used only very rarely, as most people are unable to focus their attention fully on one thing for even a second, though elves purportedly use this method only._

_"_ _The last method currently in use involves directing the magic through a ritual. Rituals are classified as a Dark Art, as they require great power of the caster but also amplify this magic by various means. Ritual magic takes considerably more time than the other methods and is used only rarely. The magic is directed by certain words, gestures, actions, and symbols._

_"There are various other methods, most of which have been lost over time, but a minor method that can be used for certain things is to focus the magic in a certain part of the body to enhance its functions; for instance a person might focus his magic in his eyes to gain telescopic sight for a certain amount of time. This however is merely a sub-point of the magic of the Will and thus hardly known anymore."_

With that, Harry finally finished his monologue detailing the various ways to wield magic. He looked at Voldemort for confirmation. Voldemort nodded slightly in acknowledgement. _"I trust you have not yet gained full control of your mind?"_

Harry frowned in consternation. _"No,"_ he said unhappily. _"Sometimes I manage to clear my mind for a time, but then a thought slips in and all is lost."_

_"No matter,"_ Voldemort reassured him. _"Once we release your magic fully it should be a lot easier. In order to achieve that I will need to guide you to your mind. This will be easier if you assume a reclining position._ "

Without a word, Harry lay down flat on his mattress, arms lying loosely by his sides with his palms facing upward and his eyes closed.

 _"Now, relax all your muscles one by one,"_ Voldemort started in an even voice. _"First your legs - then your arms - your torso - your face muscles - feel the relaxation infusing your very bones. Imagine you are lying outside on a field of grass. Feel the blades tickling the side of your face. Smell the freshness of the air. It is night-time, and the light breeze feels cool on your skin. You open your eyes and get up slowly. Look around. Do you see a house anywhere?"_

_"Yes…"_ Harry said in a slow, lethargic voice. _"There is… a house at the bottom of the hill…"_

_"Good. Now go to that house and tell me what it looks like."_

For a while there was silence, then Harry said evenly, _"The house has white walls and many windows… the door is black with a silver handle. There is a symbol on the door in silver…"_

_"Describe this symbol to me."_

_"It is… a circle inside a square… in the circle there is the rune mannaz…"_

_"Very well. Now open the door and enter the house. Describe what it looks like inside."_

_"… there is a small hall… the walls are… white… but the floor is black… there are three hallways leading away from the hall. One is black, one is red, and one green…"_

_"This is the house of your mind. This is what your mind looks like to you. From here you can find your magic. What hallway do you think your magic is in?"_

For a long time Harry was silent. Then, abruptly, he spoke, _"green."_

_"Then go down the green hallway. Do you see any light coming from anywhere?"_

_"The walls are glowing… but there seems to be a stronger light at the end of the hall…"_

_"Go towards that light. Where does it come from?"_

_"… there is a door at the end… it is black and silver… it is locked and bolted shut. But there are a number of cracks… the light is coming from behind the door…"_

_"Do you think you can open it?"_

_"I'll try…"_

Silence once more descended on the room. Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, Harry arched up from his mattress and _screamed_. Voldemort winced. He knew how painful it was when the raw magic of the core suddenly tore through the mind and reorganised everything. Not to mention the physical pain of the magic fully entering the bloodstream. Well, at least this way Harry would have no problems with either Legilimency or Occlumency…

Abruptly, Harry stopped screaming. He snapped his eyes open and looked over at Voldemort. _"What was_ that?" He asked in wonderment.

_"That was your magic fusing with your mind and body. And clearing your mind in the process. Why don't you try meditating for a moment?"_

Harry obediently sat up cross-legged and closed his eyes. After a few minutes he opened his eyes and looked at Voldemort in astonishment. _"No thoughts!"_ he whispered. _"Only my magic surrounding me, enveloping me…"_

_"From now on, every time you sit down to meditate, you will find yourself in your magical core. Your task now is to always retain that state of bliss - but not to loose awareness of your surroundings in the process. I do not expect you to achieve this goal any time soon. It is one of the reasons ancient vampires need so little sleep, but it takes years of practice."_

Harry nodded in acquiescence, but asked, _"if my magic managed to clear my mind in under five minutes, then why did I have to attempt it by myself for over two years?"_

_"Your mind was already less cluttered than the mind of a normal human being. Even so, you went through an immense amount of pain when the magic ripped through your mind and body. A person who had not practiced meditation diligently for at_ least _two years would be consumed by the sudden influx of pure, raw magic."_

_"Oh. So if I hadn't meditated, I could have died just now?"_ Harry asked.

_"That is so. Now, don't you want to try out that magic that is now at your disposal?"_

Harry's eyes lit up at that. _"So, how do I do it?"_ he asked eagerly.

Voldemort shook his head in amusement at Harry's enthusiasm, presenting Harry with a feather he had literally pulled out of thin air. _"Feel the magic running through your veins. Then try to guide that magic towards levitating this feather."_

Harry closed his eyes and remembered the feel of his magic. He tried to find that feeling in his body. For a long time, his efforts were futile, then he finally felt the steady pulse of the magic in his blood. He narrowed down his view until he felt only the magic in his fingertips, then he _pulled_ on the magic as if trying to extend his fingers and touched the feather with it. He "picked up" the feather with his magic, using the magic as an extension of his fingers. Voldemort looked on in approval as the feather rose towards the ceiling. _"Very good,"_ he said, _"How did you go about it?"_

_"I used my magic like an extension of my fingers."_

_"Yes, that is one way of employing your magic, always imagining how you would solve the task 'by hand', so to speak. From now on, practice levitating the feather until you can do it in under a second and hold it for over five minutes. I will be gone for the next week or so. In the meantime, I want you to start thinking about the name you would like to assume. I would rather not rule side-by-side with a Dark Lord Potter, or even worse a Dark Lord_ Harry."

Harry winced. It sounded ridiculous. _"Yes, I shall be glad to discard this plebeian name very soon."_

_"You will still have to use it around other people,"_ Voldemort cautioned. _"It just won't be you real name."_

Harry made a face. He couldn't _wait_ until he could finally get rid of his annoying name _permanently_.

 _"A word of warning,_ " Voldemort added, _"Don't make your name too obvious. Don't call yourself Lucifer or Nefarian, for instance. And remember that you will bear this name for centuries. Choose wisely."_

_"I will,"_ Harry said quietly.

 _"Well, I must take my leave,"_ Voldemort said. _"Till we meet again._ " And with that, he changed the room back to its original cupboard-size and phased out.

XXX

The next day found Harry at the library, standing at the front desk with an endearing expression gracing his face. "Excuse me, Mrs. Doury, I'm very sorry for interrupting, but could I ask you something?"

The librarian melted at the look of his wide, innocent eyes. "Why, you aren't interrupting anything," she said warmly, "ask away."

"I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the name 'Voldemort'."

The librarian frowned. "It does not seem familiar," she mused. "Could you write it down for me?"

Obligingly, Harry wrote down Voldemort's name on the piece of paper the librarian handed him.

"Hm… it looks French…" the librarian muttered, then drew a line between the 'l' and the 'd' and another between the 'e' and the 'm'. "What little I know of French tells me that this is a name made up of these three words. I suggest you check in a French-English dictionary what they mean."

Thanking the librarian profusely, Harry wandered over to the section of the library where he would find foreign-language dictionaries.

Ten minutes later, Harry sat bemused as the full meaning of Voldemort's name was revealed. _Flight or theft from death?_ He thought. _There is obviously a very good reason Voldemort told me to be careful with choosing my name… it's a good thing not too many British wizards know French…_

Harry shook himself out of his reverie. He had only limited time, and he wanted to start his search for a new name today. Rising, he put the French-English dictionary back where it had come from and moved over one shelf to the various English dictionaries. Thesaurus… no… dictionary of proverbs… no… dictionary of place names in England… no… dictionary of Christian names… no… dictionary of names… yes. He took out the book and checked first if there was an index. Unfortunately, this one did not have one. He looked back at the shelf. More of the same... but three books further on there was a book called _Name Your Character_. Harry smiled wryly. That might be the book he was looking for.

XXX

A week later, Harry had finally, after much deliberation, chosen his new name. Now he was waiting for Voldemort to arrive so that they could finish the Naming Ritual, though it was magically more like a contract than an actual ritual. To pass the time, he practiced levitating the feather and make it zoom around the cupboard. He hated to admit it to himself, but it was fun. Just then, Voldemort phased into the cupboard in his snake form. _"Ah, I see you have mastered the art of levitation,"_ he said as he expanded the cupboard and transformed into his human form. _"Have you also chosen a name?"_

 _"Yes, I have."_ Harry said seriously, then stood up in front of Voldemort.

" _Then what name hast thou chosen, Nameless One?"_

_"I have chosen the name of Azriel for mine own use."_

_"Then from now on thou shalt be known as Azriel. So mote it be!"_

_"So mote it be!"_

With those words, the magic bound these words and made them true. Harry Potter no longer existed. The boy who bore the infamous curse-scar was now and forevermore Lord Azriel.


	4. Mind over Memories

_Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four…three… two… one…_

With an explosion of light and sound, the world rowdily welcomed the new year. Azriel barely registered the cacophony of noises, his being sunk too deep in his magic to notice much of _anything_. Voldemort had told him to work on that, as the best state was to be constantly in full mental and physical contact with one's magic without outside influences drowning in it. Blissful peace and sharp awareness at the same time - a monumental task which Voldemort had clearly stated he didn't expect Azriel to achieve before his Turning even if he practiced non-stop. But Azriel was too far immersed for thoughts such as these - for the moment, his self was floating in peaceful thoughtless-ness. He could never understand how other people managed to survive without these brief respites from the constant barrage of thoughts that attacked every human's mind. Dimly, Azriel felt his stomach rumbling, and with a mental sigh he gradually eased out of his trance and into the cold embrace of the physical world. He could barely keep his eyes open and quickly decided to eat the apple that he had swiped from the dining room table that very day and then retire to bed. He growled unhappily. Lucky vampires needed sleep only once a year or so, not to mention that they hungered much slower - and only needed blood for nutrition. He simply couldn't _wait_ for his Turning… but he had to; they couldn't take such an unnecessary risk now.

He was about to lie down to sleep when a piece of paper appeared in a flash of blue right in front of him. He sighed; it seemed he would have to postpone the sleeping a little. Voldemort had sent him a message from where-ever-he-was-at, still searching for the lost bits of his soul. He unfolded the paper and quickly scanned the message.

 _Azriel,_ it said, _I probably won't be coming back until July. Until then, you must disorganise your memories so that Dumbledore doesn't become suspicious when you go to Hogwarts in the autumn. Your memories will be located in the Corridor of Memories; hide any suspicious memories in the rooms in one of the other corridors. Practice_ not _thinking suspicious thoughts. This letter will return to me in ten minutes, if you are in trouble, just hold on to it and it will bring you here._

_Voldemort_

Azriel quickly set the message on the floor next to him and crawled into bed. It was rather ingenious, really, to use the Portkey spell to send messages to one another, all you had to do was modify the spell a little so it didn't arrive at a specific location but rather went straight to the person it was meant for. Then again, modifying spells was really only easy when you controlled it with willpower - finding the right words for a verbal spell could often become a life-long project. When the letter vanished in another flash of blue, Azriel relaxed, and in less than a minute, he was fast asleep. The memory-sorting could wait until tomorrow.

XXX

The next evening found Azriel sitting in his usual posture on his mattress, entering the so-called house of his mind. It hadn't changed much from the first time he had been here, but for the warm green light suffusing every nook and cranny. He entered the red corridor - _how_ the green managed not to clash with the red was a mystery to Azriel - and turned to the first door on the right. ' _Year One_ ', it said in larger letters on the door. Azriel was suddenly intensely glad that his magic had organised his memories _for_ him. This way, he would not have to relive his parents' death. He walked further until he came to the door labelled ' _Year Six_ '. This should be the one; he had first met Voldemort when he was almost six. He opened the door and entered the room beyond. It was lit with the same green light as the rest of his mind; all the walls were covered in shelves all the way from floor to ceiling. Each shelf was filled with books, and as Azriel came closer he saw that each book represented one hour of his sixth year of life, so that meant - 8760 books in this room. Well, that wasn't too bad… Azriel examined the dates on the books. He had been almost six, therefore he needed to look further on; these books all showed dates some time in August. He moved to the opposite shelf; these had dates in July - that sounded more like it. He took out a book that said ' _July 3rd, 1986, 9pm - 10pm._ ' The moment he opened it, he felt himself transported back to that time.

_Sheep… one after another in one long row… and now those sheep were attacking him with giant pencils, laughing evilly… except they weren't sheep anymore; they were Dudley and his gang… he whimpered and tried to run away, but he bumped into a tree and fell on his back. 'Watch were you're going, you freak!' the tree boomed at him. 'Sorry,' he whispered. By now the gang had caught up with him and he looked around wildly for an escape. There! A lake! He jumped in quickly, only to remember that he couldn't swim… the water pulled him under, and just as he was about to drown, he fell through the bottom of the lake, and he was standing on a familiar-looking mountain with a voice whispering to him, 'A thousand years the light will rule…'_

Azriel forcibly pulled himself out of the memory; it was obviously still too early, and there was no point in wasting time listening to that prophecy again. He heard it almost every night, for earth's sake! He put that book back on the shelf and took one a little further down, same time, but ten days later.

 _The pretty woman had the same green eyes as he did, and beautiful long blond hair. 'Come,' she said. 'I am your mother. I am so glad I found you! Now you can live with us and don't have to live with them anymore.' She gestured at the house of his uncle. He could hardly believe his ears. 'Really?' he asked, his eyes lighting up. The woman - his mother - smiled at him. 'yes, really,' she said and held out her hand towards him, but just as he was about to take it, she vanished in a flash of green light, and a high-pitched voice laughed coldly as the green light sped towards him… and just as it touched him he found himself flying over the familiar landscape of Britain towards_ that _mountain-_

Azriel sighed; had _all_ his dreams back then turned into nightmares? He put the book back and took the book for the same time another ten days later.

_'- Three Serpent Lords bring th' Reign of Night -'_

Was his mind really _that_ one-tracked? All his dreams seemed to change into that damn prophecy sooner or later! It was like someone had cursed him! Ah well, there was no point in complaining about it. Next book. 24th of July, 9pm.

_'Duck when I throw the dagger at your head!' Voldemort shouted at him. 'Sorry,' he whispered as he once more readied himself for the next onslaught._

Well, now _that_ was more like it! Azriel grinned in triumph, but then frowned. He couldn't remember Voldemort ever being that harsh to him… perhaps he had mellowed out over time. Azriel shrugged and turned back to his Herculean task.

XXX

_'Voldemort, I need glasses. The school doctor said so.'_

_'That will be a great hindrance to you in battle, and I know of no spell or potion that would fix your sight… I shall look into it. Now tell me what you learned today.'_

XXX

_'Follow the instructions in this book precisely. According to my sources, these exercises coupled with your magic should correct your eyesight.'_

_'Thank you very much, Voldemort.'_

XXX

_'Can you tell me what just happened?'_

_'Um… you used a small device that looked like an hourglass and which made everything look really weird for a moment… I'm guessing it's some kind of time machine?'_

_'Correct, it's called a time-turner.'_

_'Well, so you used the time-turner to send us… back in time, I believe, and then you Apparated us to an unused alley somewhere in a city.'_

_'That's right. Now, I turned the time back by six hours, which means that you have six hours to return to your…"room". Be careful not to meet anyone you know,_ especially _yourself. Such an encounter is potentially damaging to both the past and the future self.'_

_'Yes Vold- oh bother. He's gone.'_

XXX

_'Voldemort, I have a question.'_

_'Yes, what is it?'_

_'If both wizards and muggles have magical cores, what makes muggles different from wizards? Why do we consider them a separate race?'_

_'Magical cores are necessary for life itself; if muggles had no magical cores, they wouldn't be alive. However, their magical core is locked away from them. They will never be able to actively use it for anything. Their magical core does nothing but keep them alive. In this, they are inferior to us. Do you understand?'_

_'I think so. I will have to think about this for a bit, but I do believe I will grasp your meaning if I contemplate what you told me.'_

XXX

_'I must have misheard… You want to be a vegetarian?'_

_'Yes, I do. I do not believe in unnecessary violence towards creatures protected by Mother Earth.'_

_'You are a Dark Lord - or will be; that means you should enjoy inflicting pain on others. And whoever thought of such a ridiculous thing as a vegetarian vampire?'_

_'Well, vampires need blood, but not meat. And vampires don't need to kill to feed. Plus, meat is gross. And torturing_ people _is fun, but why should the poor animals suffer for human idiocy?'_

_'It seems you will not be convinced otherwise.'_

_'No, I'm afraid not. It just - doesn't feel right to eat meat. I think my magic isn't compatible.'_

XXX

_'You want to be a vegetarian, boy?'_

_'Yes. It's better that way.'_

_'Why? I don't want some hippie in my house, boy, I hope you know that.'_

_'Well, mostly it's because of the cost. Meat is so expensive nowadays, much more so than fruits and vegetables, and I don't eat much anyway, so I could just eat the side dishes, and please, I just don't want to be more of a burden than necessary.'_

_'Well, we can try it out for a month. If the bills do get smaller, you will continue to refrain from meat.'_

_'Thank you Aunt Petunia.'_

XXX

_'Aunt Petunia, may I ask you something?'_

_'You know the rule, boy! Don't. Ask. Questions.'_

_'Well, yes, but - well, you see, the class is going on a trip to the British Museum in London next week - I need your signature on this slip and your confirmation whether I'm going or not.'_

_'Humph. Well, show that to me… what? Ten pounds entrance fee plus a return ticket? How dare you assume we would pay that much for you, you ungrateful freak!'_

_'I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia, I didn't mean - I didn't expect to go there, but my teacher said you needed to sign anyway just so he could make sure that I really told you about the trip.'_

_'Fine. There is your signature. Will you have the day free while the rest of the class is on that trip?'_

_'I will be given something to do in the library.'_

_'Good. Now go hang up the washing!'_

_'Yes, Aunt.'_

XXX

 _'Azriel, when I told you to kill that man, I did not mean slit his throat and then drink his blood. You are_ not _a vampire!'_

_'Yet.'_

_'Granted, yet. Nevertheless, the object of this outing was to allow you to have the customary breakdown over the first kill safely in my presence only and not in front of all our enemies… But it seems that precaution was not necessary.'_

_'Nope, not at all!'_

_'Refine your language, Azriel. And I expect you realise that you won't be able to drink the blood of your victims every time.'_

_'Yes, I know…'_

XXX

 _'Voldemort, remind me_ why _I need to do this dancing course again.'_

_'I do not like having to reiterate what I have said before.'_

_'I know. But…_ ARGH _! That woman is so frustrating!'_

_'Control your temper, Azriel!'_

_'Sorry, Voldemort. It shall not happen again. But I wish that woman would stop_ bouncing _around like a little five-year-old with_ far _too much energy!'_

_'I'm afraid you will have to endure it. Think of it as an exercise in patience.'_

_'Yes, Voldemort.'_

XXX

Five months later, Azriel put down the last book with a sigh of relief. He loved books, he really did, but having to relive your own memories just to find the suspicious ones - well, he was just very glad that time passed slower in his mind than in the outside world, or he _still_ wouldn't be done. He had stacked all his 'secret' memories out in the corridor; now he needed to find a new home for them. He walked back to the entrance hall of his mind and looked around. No space for the books in the hall itself, it was far too public and did not have the space to hide that many books. He looked to his right. The green hallway, his Corridor of Magic. He looked to the left. The black hallway, his Corridor of Fate, the one that lead to the room his soul resided in and which contained the prophecies concerning him and all the other information pertaining to his destiny. It would probably be fitting to hide his memories of Voldemort in that corridor, but he didn't want to sift through his entire fate just to find a good place for his memories. _One_ prophecy was quite enough for him; he would have preferred to know _no_ prophecies that pertained to him, but that dratted prophecy had haunted him ever since he could remember.

Well, it was decided, he would put his memories somewhere in the Corridor of Magic. He entered the corridor only to realise that there were no doors on the walls. Nor on the ceiling or floor. So where could he put them? He didn't want to throw them in the pool of his magic; he didn't want to know _what_ his magic would do with them. Speaking of magic, perhaps he could use his magic to create a room in here. Focussing his power on the section of the wall in front of him, Azriel literally saw his magic converging on that spot, finally draining down to a trickle that outlined the shape of a door on the wall. Opening the door with a touch of his magic, Azriel walked back to the first stack of books and levitated them. _I could probably manage one more pile of books_ , he thought to himself, and levitated the next stack as well. It wobbled a bit, but didn't crash down on him. He hefted another pile in his arms and led the way to the room in the green corridor. Once there, he put down the books on the floor at the far end of the room and went back for the next three stacks of books. He could always organise his memories in here at a later date.

One and a half hours later, Azriel had transported the last pile of books to the new room. All that remained to do before his mind was absolutely un-suspicious was to make it messy. _Well, that shouldn't take too long…_. Grinning, he called up a whirlwind with his magic and let it sweep through every single one of the rooms in his Corridor of Memories. Five minutes later, he was standing in front of a corridor that looked as if - well, as if a tornado had swept through a library. Azriel cheerfully walked back to the room in his Corridor of Magic and created an empty shelf on each of the walls of the room. Making his way carefully around precariously piled books, he found the first stack and started putting the books in their proper order.

Twenty-one and a half stacks of books later, Azriel had a brain-wave. Hadn't his magic organised his memories for him last time, too? Exiting the room, he called up his magic and willed it to flow into the room he had just vacated. After five minutes, he stopped the flood and peeked inside the room. He almost sighed in relief when he saw that the books all stood neatly on the shelves. _If only I had realised this_ before _I started organising them…_ he thought ruefully. As he closed the door behind him he wished that Voldemort would come back soon so that he could explain how he could get his memories into his Corridor of Magic without having to put them there manually.

XXX

 _'Happy Birthday, Azriel,'_ a voice said softly behind him. Azriel twisted so he could see who had spoken. Predictably, it was Voldemort. _'Thank you,'_ Azriel answered. _'I'm glad you're back.'_

_'Yes. We have much work to do before the Hogwarts letter comes - or has it arrived already?'_

Nodding, Azriel reached behind him and pulled out a parchment envelope from beneath his pillow. _'It came about two weeks ago together with the morning post. Luckily my uncle ordered me to get it on that day. I was able to hide my letter beneath my shirt.'_

_'Very good,'_ Voldemort said approvingly. _'Have you sent a response yet?'_

_'Yes, the deadline was today. I sent off my reply yesterday.'_

_'Good. How is your work on Wide-Awake-Trancing coming along?'_

_'Wide-Awake-Trancing? Is that its real name?'_ Azriel asked in amusement.

Voldemort nodded once sharply. _'Yes. The vampire who coined the term was… very lenient in his comportment.'_

Azriel grinned. _'Yes, I see what you mean. And to answer your question, badly. I'm either immersed fully in my magic or my mind keeps telling me to feel the bliss and be fully aware at the same time.'_

_'So it's going just as expected'_

_'Yes, more's the pity.'_ Suddenly he brightened and asked in an excited voice, _'so, when are we going to Knockturn Alley?'_

_'We will go to Knockturn Alley today, after we get all your school supplies in Diagon Alley. However, you will have to get most of them on your own, as I still need to… obtain something in Diagon Alley.'_

_'You won't tell me what it is, will you?'_

_'For safety reasons, not yet. What you don't know, nobody can find out from you. Now, if you wish to go to Knockturn Alley, you will need to think of a disguise for yourself. I am_ _not_ _going to Knockturn with Harry Potter in tow.'_

_'Well then how about… I could be… Marius, Childe of Mordechai. You picked me up at an orphanage because you felt a great magical potential in me. Pale blond hair, almost white, and elf-like proportions.'_

_'Yes, that a good disguise. We will use it.'_

_'What about the Dursleys?'_

_'We will use a time-turner so they do not notice. I believe you might want to surprise your… relatives with your departure on September 1st.'_

Azriel grinned evilly at the thought, but then he sobered up. He did not see the Dursleys as relatives, but rather as strangers with whom he had the misfortune of living. But - coming to a decision, he got up from his mattress and stood facing Voldemort. _'Lord Voldemort,'_ he intoned in a steady voice that told nothing of the emotions raging inside of him, _'whilst thou accept me as thy kin?'_

Voldemort stood in shock. Azriel had just uttered the ancient vampire query that asked for a blood-kinship - the greatest show of trust a vampire could give to anyone. Of course, Azriel could not receive vampire blood yet, but despite this, if he accepted, Magic itself would still bind them together as family. For a moment, he hesitated, then he took Azriel's right hand in both of his own and spoke the sealing words: _'I accept thy request for kinship. May Magic bind us and the Gods watch over this bond. I vow to protect thee to the best of my ability. Whilst thou vow to do the same?'_

 _'Yes,'_ Azriel replied seriously, _'I vow to protect thee too, as far as I am able. I swear never to harm thee deliberately in body, mind, or soul_ _.'_ No sooner had these words been spoken than a thin strand of pure Magic shimmered into existence, twisting around their joined hands and sealing their vows. Azriel felt a powerful wave of magic overwhelm him, then Voldemort suddenly let go of his hand, his body contorting in agony as shudders wracked his body. Azriel felt panic well up inside of him; for _Voldemort_ to show his pain so openly it had to be truly excruciating. What was he to do? Voldemort had not prepared him for such an eventuality. All he had said was not to stop for him in a fight, for they could not afford such a lapse, but what of a non-combative setting?

After what felt like an eternity, Voldemort finally stilled. Azriel breathed a silent sigh of relief. The crisis had passed. Voldemort gradually uncurled from his foetal position and pulled himself back onto his feet. Despite his recent ordeal, he looked fresher, younger than he had before.

_'Voldemort, what do I do if something like that happens again? I felt utterly helpless!'_

Voldemort smiled at Azriel. _'You do not need to do anything. The pain is normal. You see, it seems that this newly-instated family bond between us caused one of my soul-pieces to mesh with my main soul. My soul-pieces are like horcruxes - their re-joining was never meant to be painless. Next time this occurs, do exactly what you did today - nothing.'_

_'Very well. But should you find yourself in pain not related to horcrux-like soul pieces, what can I do?'_

Voldemort looked faintly amused. _'In that case, dear Azriel, you will have to do something that most people are extremely reluctant to do - you will have to think for yourself.'_

Azriel frowned. Since when had Voldemort developed a sense of humour? Or was it a side-effect of his now three-sevenths complete soul? His rumination was interrupted by Voldemort's cheery 'farewell' and subsequent departure.

Azriel picked up the time-turner Voldemort had left on his mattress and turned it backwards ten times. Now, what had Voldemort transfigured into a Portkey? Azriel reached out with his magic and found traces of the familiar Portkey-magic on his Hogwarts letter. Azriel quickly applied a simple glamour that would make him appear as an unremarkable brown-haired boy and grabbed the letter tightly in his hand. Barely a second later, he felt the familiar pull behind his navel and the rapid journey through the dimensions before he landed heavily in a deserted alley a few feet away from the Leaky Cauldron that was specifically warded so that wizards could Portkey or Apparate into London without muggles noticing. Flattening his hair, he transfigured his ratty clothes into standard muggle clothing and strolled out of the alley. Entering the dingy atmosphere of the Leaky Cauldron, he looked around in feigned astonishment, in reality searching for a specific exit. Finding what he was looking for, he strode past the people sitting at the various tables and out into a small, walled courtyard where there seemed to be nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds. Azriel, however, paid no attention to the sparse growth but stood instead in front of the wall with the dustbin, muttering under his breath as he recalled the instructions Voldemort had given him. 'Three up… two across…' He tapped the brick three times with a magic-coated finger. The brick quivered and vanished, the ensuing hole rapidly growing bigger as the neighbouring bricks vanished too, and seconds later Azriel was standing in front of an archway that led to the largest shopping street in wizarding Britain. This was it. His first introduction to the wizarding world. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the archway.


	5. The Third Wand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue swiped from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

Diagon Alley was bustling with people, and all of them wizards. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Azriel saw an entirely magical community. Nearly everyone was wearing some kind of robe, and they were not all black, either, like he was used to from Voldemort. No, they came in all colours and styles, from high-collared pale blue ones to low-cut, almost dress-like neon pink robes, everything was represented. As he walked past a shop selling cauldrons, he tried not to stare too hard at a stumpy wizard loudly advertising Portkeys to any place in Europe for only 2 Galleons. A witch dressed in flowing gauze offered in a dreamy voice to read his future for him; he quickly declined before she could get any ideas.

Finally he arrived at a large snowy-white that was built in a style reminiscent of ancient Roman architecture - and at the door stood a creature that Azriel had only ever read about: a goblin. So this was Gringotts. He walked past the bowing goblin and through the bronze doors, then through another pair of doors, this time silver, and into a vast marble hall. Hundreds of goblins were sitting behind a long counter, writing in massive ledgers, counting coins or examining precious stones through enchanted eyeglasses. Azriel walked up to one of the ones who seemed to be free for serving customers. 'Good morning,' he said politely, 'is there any way I can check whether I have an account here?'

'You are speaking of a vault, I presume?' the goblin asked.

'Yes, sorry. I was raised as a Muggle, but - well, I was told my parents were wizards.'

'Name?' the goblin asked curtly.

'I'm known as Harry James Potter,' Azriel replied, lifting the glamour concealing the tell-tale scar on his forehead.

The goblin nodded sharply. 'Your parents should have left you some money,' he said. 'Since you were raised among Muggles, I take it you do not have your vault key?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'That is not a problem; we can summon it with your blood.'

'How much of my blood?' Azriel asked warily.

'Just a drop,' the goblin assured him, handing him a long, bronze needle with a glass bead on one end. 'Prick your finger with this and state you full name,' the goblin instructed, 'If you're not sure about pricking yourself, I can assist you.'

'No, it's fine.' Pricking his finger, Azriel said in a clear voice, 'Harry James Potter,' then added under his breath, 'renamed Lord Azriel'.

The bead whirred for a moment, stopping with a click. Whereas before, it had been clear, transparent glass, it was now filled with a red glow.

'Everything seems to be in order,' the goblin said, picking up the needle and inserting it into a curious silver device that looked like a cross between a model of the solar system and a vase. The bead on the end of the needle blinked twice and the little silver orbs floating around the vase started whizzing around it at a breakneck speed. Azriel stared in fascination. The orbs slowed down and a small golden key popped out of the top of the vase, just like a piece of toast from a toaster. The goblin grabbed it out of the air and examined it carefully. 'This seems to be the right one. Do you wish to visit your vault now?'

'Yes.'

'Very well. Grappleclaw!' the goblin called.

Another goblin hurried closer. He was smaller even than the other goblins Azriel had seen so far, and his skin was greener too.

'Escort Mr. Potter to his vault, Grappleclaw,' the goblin behind the counter commanded, handing Grappleclaw Azriel's key. Grappleclaw took it with a subservient bow and turned to Azriel. 'Follow me,' he said and led Azriel through one of the doors in the back into a passageway dimly lit by torches hanging in brackets on the walls, which were no longer marble, but merely plain, rough stone. The floor was covered in little tracks, and when Grappleclaw whistled, a small cart that looked like it came straight from a coal mine hurtled towards them on one of these tracks. They climbed in, and from then on it was a wild ride full of twists and turns and sharp corners, across yawning abysses and past towering stalagmites, going steadily deeper into the earth.

Finally the cart slowed down and stopped next to a small door in the wall with a jolt. 'The Potter vault,' Grappleclaw said in a disinterested voice. Azriel slowly loosened the stranglehold he had been keeping on the sides of the cart and shakily stepped out onto blessedly steady ground. Grappleclaw strode past him and unlocked the door. A cloud of green smoke billowed out, revealing the treasures inside as it cleared. Azriel stared. He had never seen this much money in one place before. And it all belonged to him! Struggling to keep his astonishment from showing, he asked Grappleclaw, 'What's the exchange rate to British pounds?'

'About five pounds to a Galleon.'

'So I assume it's ten Sickles to a Galleon and 10 Knuts to a Sickle,' Azriel said absently as he piled coins into his bag.

Grappleclaw smirked. 'No, it's 17 Sickles to a Galleon and 29 Knuts to a Sickle.'

Azriel looked at him in disbelief. 'And what's wrong with the good old decimal system, I wonder?' he asked accusingly.

'Not a goblin measurement, I'm afraid,' Grappleclaw answered. 'Wizards had no monetary system before we opened the banks, so they adopted our system.'

'I always knew humans weren't all that clever,' Azriel mumbled to himself. 'Alright, I'm done here.'

After he had locked the door behind them, Grappleclaw handed the key to Azriel and looked at him sternly. 'Don't loose it,' he warned.

Azriel nodded in acquiescence. Pocketing it, he glanced at the cart in wary apprehension. 'If you don't mind me asking, how do these carts manage not to crash into each other? Surely all those tracks must cross each other at some point.'

'Magic,' Grappleclaw answered shortly. When Azriel only raised an eyebrow at that, he elaborated, 'the carts are enchanted to jump out of each other's way. It's similar to the Knight Bus, if you know what that is.'

Azriel shook his head, but asked, 'then won't they jump of the track in that case?'

'I suppose you could say the track jumps with them. It's an incredibly complicated system… simplistically put, the track splits in two - almost as if the two carts were, just for one moment, in two separate dimensions.'

Azriel nodded slowly, slightly happier now that he knew a little more about how the carts worked. Those things were _dangerous_ …

He almost enjoyed the ride back to the top, and even managed to appreciate the sparkling green light of the underground lake they passed, but his fingers were still stiff and aching from gripping the edges too tightly.

Azriel was immensely happy when he finally stepped out of Gringotts and into the bright sunlight. Not because of the sunlight of course, although that was nice too, but because he was now on slightly more familiar ground. He knew how to deal with people, be they wizards or Muggles; goblins on the other hand - what little he knew of their culture seemed so alien to him; honestly, what kind of people counted in seventeens and twenty-nines?

First things first. Some place to put all his purchases. And preferably a safer bag for his money; just because he felt rich didn't mean pickpockets had to get that money. But for now, he would have to do it the Muggle style. Stepping around to the side of the bank, he cast a quick spell that made him blend into his surroundings - not invisible, but enough to fool most people. He took out his bag full of money and started putting his money in different places. Some of it he stuck in his shoes which he quickly transfigured into boots for more space, some of it went into each of the pockets of his many-pocketed cargo trousers, some into the pouch strapped around his stomach underneath his clothes, leaving only an few Knuts and Sickles in the bag itself. _This is so much easier with paper money_ , he thought, _how can I keep coins in anything other but the most impractical of places? Paper money can be stuck under the rubber band of your socks, or your underwear, and a lot more places than coins!_

The shopkeeper of _Trunks & More - Storage Space to Satisfy Everyone_ was a young man who looked entirely out of place in the cluttered shop. 'What can I do for you?' he asked, smiling at Azriel happily.

'I'd like a thief-proof pouch, if you have such a thing, some kind of a bag for my purchases, and a trunk.'

'One moment, please,' the shopkeeper said. Whistling to himself, he rummaged under the counter for a moment before pulling out a catalogue and laying it out in front of Azriel. 'What kind of a pouch would you like? We have this standard Mokeskin purse, but I wouldn't recommend it because it bites anybody who so much as tries to open it, including the owner himself. This model, however, is slightly modified - the first person it bites is recognised as the owner from then on and left alone. Further up in the price range we have this pouch which comes in chocolate, cream, raven, and crimson and again opens only for the owner. It is charmed with a burglar alarm, sticking charms and anti-summoning charms that exclude the owner - that way you can summon if you have lost it or forgotten it somewhere.'

'What use are the sticking charms?'

'Oh, you see, that's the most ingenious part,' the shopkeeper said eagerly. 'Should you lose your pouch, it will stick to the surface it lands on and can't be picked up or summoned by anyone but the owner. It also sticks to your robe or pocket or wherever you keep it so no thief can take it.'

'And how much does this anti-burglary wonder cost?' Azriel asked cynically.

'Oh, only ten Galleons and five Sickles! The crimson edition costs another ten Sickles extra - the dyeing is a little tricky, see, because Mokeskin tends to react badly to the dye.'

'I'll take a brown one,' Azriel decided. 'How do I make it recognise me?'

'Oh, just let it bite you,' the shopkeeper answered. He turned around and walked into the back room. Azriel heard him rummaging around, whistling to himself, before he came back to the counter holding a brown leather pouch in one dragonskin-gloved hand. Azriel took it and undid the leather strap tying it shut. Immediately the bag leapt out of his grasp and bit his hand ferociously. Apparently satisfied with the blood running down Azriel's fingers and into the pouch, the Mokeskin pouch withdrew and once more assumed an innocently inanimate position in his uninjured hand.

'Is there a guarantee on this?' Azriel asked as he surreptitiously guided his magic to heal the wound on his hand.

'Oh yes, all our products have a three year guarantee at least, some of the trunks even up to thirty years! We do not sell rubbish!'

After the rather pricey pouch, Azriel decided to forego the shopping bag; he would simply put all his purchases in his trunk, a solid, leather-covered, oak-and-steel monstrosity without any enchantments on it - Azriel could charm it himself if need be - and as such quite a bit cheaper than the other trunks in the shop had been. He did, however, buy a wand-holster as soon as he spotted them on display in the shop; he had been wondering how on earth wizards kept their wands with them - surely not in their back pockets, after all! Even though he didn't have a wand yet, Azriel strapped the wand-holster to his arm, if for no other reason than because it was the easiest place to keep it.

Thus equipped, he quickly had most of his school shopping done. Stopping in a miraculously unoccupied corner between an apothecary and _Eylops Owls Emporium_ , he willed his trunk lighter (he should have done that ages ago, he thought to himself) before sitting down on it and pulling his by now rather tattered Hogwarts supplies list out of his jeans pocket. He still needed most of his uniform, barring the protective gloves which he had bought at a shop that sold all kinds of leather clothing, from shoes to leggings and even leather _scarves_ for some reason. He had all the required books, along with quite a few others that were not required but which he just hadn't been able to resist. He still needed his wand, but he had the pewter cauldron and the crystal phials and the telescope and the brass scales. So he still needed his uniform and his wand - should he buy himself a pet? Owls were useful, but he could always use a school owl, and owl post wasn't safe enough to exchange letters with Voldemort anyway. Cats and toads were rather useless except for potions ingredients. He debated smuggling a snake into Hogwarts, but quickly discarded the idea. Nice as it would have been to have someone there with whom he could hold an intelligent conversation, he doubted that a snake would be well-received in Gryffindor. He decided not to bother with a pet; instead he would get himself a beginner's potions kit at the apothecary. No use in buying all the other equipment if he could only brew potions in class, was there?

Five minutes later, he left the apothecary with his Mokeskin pouch a few galleons lighter and headed off to get some decent robes. Hogwarts required three plain black robes, one black pointed hat (ridiculous) and one winter coat. Additionally, he would probably need at least one dress robe and a few robes for casual wear. He would have liked to have some battle robes or under-robe armour, but he didn't think any shop in Diagon Alley would sell that kind of merchandise to an eleven-year-old. Perhaps he could at least get his robes slightly modified so they wouldn't get in the way of his jumps and kicks during a fight.

Before he entered _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_ , he lifted all glamours but the one hiding his scar - he couldn't effectively choose the right colour dress robe if he did not look like himself.

No sooner had he opened the door than he was assaulted by a squat woman dressed entirely in mauve. 'Hogwarts, dear?' she asked before Azriel could say a word. 'Got the lot here - another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.'

'Wait,' Azriel said hurriedly, 'I don't just need robes for Hogwarts, I need other robes, too. And I wanted to ask whether there is a possibility of altering the robes a little.'

Madam Malkin stopped and turned towards Azriel. 'What kind of alterations?' she asked kindly.

'Well, I was wondering if there was a way of making the robes more… well, practical,' Azriel began. 'I've been trained in martial arts, so it makes me feel insecure if I have to wear clothes that constantly get in the way during combat.'

Madam Malkin frowned. 'Robes like that are extremely difficult to make, and they're rather pricey. They are significantly different from standard Hogwarts robes, and I doubt you want to stand out like a sore thumb - tell you what, I can cut the robes in such a way that you can easily take them off if it comes to a fight, alright?'

Azriel gave her his most brilliant smile. 'Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you very much!' he said enthusiastically.

Madam Malkin led him to the back and bade him stand on the stool next to the other boy she had mentioned. Azriel glanced at him as Madam Malkin fussed over the robe hanging from Azriel's lean frame - aristocratically pale skin, a pointy nose that looked like it was permanently stuck high up in the air, and white-blond, slicked back hair - clearly a pureblood, and a Malfoy if he was not mistaken. The Malfoys were notorious supporters of the Dark, so Azriel did not have to make an effort to befriend this boy. Good. He had no desire for inane conversation about Quidditch or some such nonsense.

Unfortunately, the boy had other ideas. 'Hullo,' he said, 'Hogwarts too?'

'That is so,' Azriel answered politely, because if there was one thing he hated more than juvenile prattle then it was the childish quarrels that resulted when one person felt slighted by the other.

'My father's next door buying my books and my mother's up the street looking at wands,' the Malfoy continued, sounding bored. 'Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own. I think I'll bully my father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow.'

Azriel almost snorted at the idea of Lucius Malfoy being bullied into _anything_ , even by his own son - if anything, the Malfoy patriarch would be the one doing the bullying. Azriel was glad he didn't have to befriend this obnoxious blond; he would soon be cured of his undeserved attitude if thrown into battle and given a taste of death, but until then he would probably continue to be as insufferable as he came across even after talking for barely a minute.

'Have _you_ got your own broom?' the Malfoy brat went on, oblivious to Azriel's opinion of him.

'My mentor did not deem it necessary,' Azriel answered.

'Play Quidditch at all?'

'Regrettably, I do not have the time to play games,' Azriel answered frostily. The Malfoy didn't seem to notice. 'Well, I do,' he said, 'Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?'

'Obviously not - I'll only know that once I get sorted.'

'Well, yes, obviously, but you can make an educated guess - I know _I'll_ be in Slytherin, there hasn't been a Malfoy in another house for centuries. Don't you know what house your parents were in?'

So Azriel had been right, the brat _was_ a Malfoy. 'I do know what house they were in,' he said in the iciest tone he could muster, 'however, their personality has in no way influenced mine.'

Before the Malfoy brat could broach another senseless topic, Madam Malkin appeared with a pile of black cloth over her arm. 'There, your Hogwarts robes are done, dearie,' she told Azriel, 'want to try them out?'

'Yes, I would like that.'

Madam Malkin held up one of his new robes for him to see. Unlike the simple Hogwarts robes, this one had a cut down the middle, though at present it was held together by some unseen means. 'I used this new Muggle material for the fastenings," Madam Malkin told Azriel proudly, 'it's called Velcro.'

Azriel was glad he was not expected to answer that. He tried on the robe presented to him by Madam Malkin. The cut was comfortable and rather loose, allowing for many large pockets on the inside. Suddenly, Azriel ripped open his robe and leapt ten feet into the air, his robe sliding to the ground with a soft _fwump_. Madam Malkin whooped in surprise and the Malfoy's mouth fell open in shock. Azriel smirked slightly at the sight and nodded in satisfaction; it was not ideal, but nevertheless these robes would serve him well. 'Thank you,' he said sincerely, 'do you have the Hogwarts winter cloak ready, too?'

'Yes, and the hat,' Madam Malkin said, handing him both items. Azriel took his trunk out of his pocket and enlarged it with a tap, carefully folding his Hogwarts uniform before laying it inside.

'I believe you also wanted a few normal robes?' Madam Malkin asked.

'Well, not so much normal as every-day wear,' Azriel corrected, 'preferably robes which will serve me well in battle, too.'

From the corner of his eye, Azriel could see the Malfoy brat still gaping like a fish and he laughed internally. _That should bring the brat down a notch or two_ , he thought gleefully.

After buying two battle-robes in a mottled grey-and-brown - the better for hiding in the shadows - and one less conspicuous robe in black, Azriel purchased a simply-cut dress-robe in a green which, according to Madam Malkin, brought out the colour of his eyes beautifully. He was debating whether perhaps to get some of the leggings he had seen hanging on racks in the front of the shop or whether he could make do with his Muggle clothing when he saw Voldemort standing outside the shop. He quickly paid for his new clothe, waved a cheeky goodbye at the Malfoy brat and sauntered out of the shop. He followed Voldemort through the crowd at a fair distance until he saw him vanish into a side street. Azriel ducked behind a large sign standing in front of a shop and cast a quick notice-me-not charm. Under the cover of the charm he changed his appearance to that of 'Marius', keeping an eye out for Voldemort. Finally he spotted him striding briskly down the Alley in his guise of Mordechai. Azriel dispelled the charm around himself and joined Voldemort just before he reached the gaggle of boys in front of the Quidditch supplies shop. 'Do you have everything, Marius?' Voldemort asked in English.

Azriel thought the language sounded strange coming from the Dark Lord, but replied in kind. 'Everything but the wand, Sire.'

'Very well, Ollivanders will be our next step.'

XXX

Ollivanders was a small, shabby shop right on the border to Knockturn Alley. Faded gold letters above the door proclaimed Ollivanders to be wandmakers since 382 BCE, and a cardboard sign hanging on the door said _Welcome_ in curved, fancy lettering. A tinkling bell signalled their entrance into the tiny shop which was empty but for a rickety old chair and a long row of shelves on one wall which were stacked high with long, thin boxes that looked a little like mal-proportioned shoe boxes. Azriel could feel the ambient magic in the shop like a low murmuring in the background.

'Good afternoon,' said a soft voice.

Voldemort bowed courteously to the old man who had just appeared and replied, 'good afternoon, Elder.'

Azriel's eyes widened. Ollivander was a vampire, and an Elder at that? Looking closer, Azriel could see the tell-tale signs - the wide, pale eyes like miniature moons, the long, spindly limbs that belied the strength hidden inside and the white hair that looked not like a simple sign of old age, but rather like the rich, full mane of youth that just so happened to have the colour of moonlight. Azriel quickly bowed to Ollivander and gave the standard greeting: 'Good afternoon, Elder.'

'Thank you, youngling,' Ollivander replied pleasantly. 'May I ask your names?'

'I am called Mordechai, Elder,' Voldemort replied, 'and this is my Childe, Marius.'

'You are not a vampire then, I take it?' Ollivander asked Azriel.

'Not yet, Elder,' Azriel answered.

'So I suppose you need a wand for Hogwarts?'

'That is so, Elder.'

Ollivander fixed Voldemort with a piercing stare. 'And I suppose you have taught your Childe the Old Ways?'

'That I have, Elder.'

'Then I must ask you, Marius, to pull your magic back into your core while we try out wands, or every wand that is not compatible will react violently. I'm afraid that the same goes for any other personal magics, so you will have to drop your glamour.'

Azriel threw a quick glance at Voldemort for affirmation, then he let the masks he had built around himself fall and pulled in every single bit of magic, going into trance in order to lock the door on his magical core for the first time ever. Barely five minutes later, he resurfaced and shivered at the alien feel of his body. His every movement felt slow, sluggish, like he was carrying ten-pound weights on each limb, and despite his extensive martial training he felt utterly helpless without his magic. Self-consciously he brushed his fringe out of his eyes. He really needed to get that cut as soon as possible.

Ollivander's eyes widened. 'Harry Potter, Childe of Mordechai,' he breathed. 'That is news indeed.'

Azriel froze. He had forgotten about his scar! Mentally he berated himself furiously, but on the outside he stayed as calm as ever - or so he thought, but Ollivander seemed to pick up on his distress, for he smiled at Azriel and said, 'do not worry overmuch, Childe, such forgetfulness is normal when first deprived of one's magic. Your secret is safe with me. But I must say, I am impressed that you have chosen a name already. May it always serve you well.'

Azriel bowed. 'I thank you, Elder.'

'Now, to business,' Ollivander called, clapping his hands together delightedly. 'Which is your wand arm?'

'I am right-handed, Elder.'

'Hold out your arm. That's it.' He pulled a long tape measure out of his pocket and measure Azriel from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor and round his wrist. While the tape measure continued measuring round Azriel's head, round his torso, and round the base of his index finger, Ollivander started taking boxes down from the shelves. While he carried a low stepladder to one end of the shelves, he said, 'Every wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. I have found unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons to be best for this, although other wandmakers prefer other cores, and many vampires favour wands with a core of their Sire's blood. Wands are made from every kind of wood imaginable, though I usually use wood from British trees. No two wands can be identical, just like no two dragons and no two trees are ever the same. I suggest you never try to use another wizard's wand; the results will most likely be violent. Right then, try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.'

Azriel had only just raised the wand into the air when it was snatched out of his hand again. 'No, no, dragon just won't do, won't do at all,' Ollivander muttered, laying the wand back in its box and banishing it to the far corner of the room.

'Ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Try -'

Azriel had barely touched the wand when Ollivander snatched it back again. 'No, no, _definitely_ not. We're getting somewhere with the ebony, but unicorn hair - _far_ too innocent and pure; no, you are destined for darker paths. Phoenix then. Try this one. Elderwood and phoenix feather, seven inches, quite whippy.'

Azriel tried and tried. Phoenix feather seemed to be the right core for him, for Ollivander gave him no more wands with unicorn hair or dragon heartstring, but still the pile of discarded wands grew larger and larger until Azriel was certain that the wandmaker's seemingly endless supply of phoenix feather wands had to be running out by now. He was getting rather tired of the whole thing, but the more wands Ollivander banished to the pile in the corner, the more energetic he became until he was almost bouncing off the walls, giggling happily and mumbling things such as 'tricky customer' and 'perfect match'. Azriel supposed that Elders had a right to be a little crazy; after all, they had at least two thousand years of life behind them. Such a time span _had_ to have an effect on a person's psyche. Or maybe at that age you just no longer cared about acting _normal_.

'Well, I wonder - you have been marked by one of its brothers, after all - yes, yes, why not - unusual combination - could indeed be the right one - here, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.'

Azriel took the wand. Immediately he felt some of the feeling come back into his fingers, as if his magic had somehow reached his hand despite being locked away. He raised the wand up high and brought it down in a wide arc, the tip leaving a trail of red and gold sparks in its wake. Voldemort gave a sigh of relief and Ollivander cried, 'yes, perfect! Indeed, very good, very good. Well, well, well… curious… how extraordinarily curious… curious indeed…'

'I beg your pardon, Elder,' Azriel said, 'but _what_ is curious?'

Ollivander stared intently at Azriel. 'I remember every single wand I have ever sold, Childe. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave me three feathers, a long, long time ago, before we had schools of magic here in Europe, as thanks for a service I fad done for him. One wand was sold almost immediately, to a boy who seemed to be far too old to be starting with magic… but the other wand, why, that other wand was the one that gave you that scar which you hide so expertly. Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Very powerful indeed… Childe, I believe we must expect great things from you. After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things, and so did the owner of the other wand, despite his late start...'

'I'm sorry, but if I may be so bold to ask - who was the owner of the first wand?'

'Why, that is for me to know and for you to puzzle over incessantly until you find out,' Ollivander replied with a chuckle. 'After all, who am I to disrupt the hand of Lady Fate?'

XXX

Azriel left the shop in a very contemplative mood. He was certain that the mysterious owner of the third phoenix wand was the third Dark Lord prophesied, but why then hadn't he appeared yet? Surely a vampire that old could easily find the two others that were so deeply connected to him?

He was pulled from his thoughts when they entered Knockturn Alley.

'I suggest you look around, Marius, then buy no more than three items. One can easily spend over a thousand Galleons in some of the shops here if one isn't careful. In fact, I will buy you two items of your choice. Consider it your birthday present.'

'Thank you very much, Sire,' Azriel said gratefully. He couldn't wait to see what lay in store in _this_ Alley.

XXX

In the end, most shops in Knockturn Alley turned out to be grottier versions of the shops in Diagon Alley. They were all rather boring, for the most part, and the only ones where Azriel could have spent more time were the weaponry and Borgin & Burkes.

For his birthday gifts, he selected two beautifully crafted silver daggers that always returned to the user's hand, like a magical boomerang, complete with sheaths thin enough so the knives could be slipped into one's boots but sturdy enough so they wouldn't break from use or be cut through by the daggers. He had also bought himself a Hand of Glory - it would enable him to see perfectly in every situation until he gained the more-than-perfect vampiric vision. The only drawback was that it had to be held in one hand in order for it to work, but Azriel was confident he would find a way around that inconvenience. Additionally, he had purchased an ancient tome that he had found while rummaging through the various cupboards, shelves, and cabinets that held the clutter which passed as merchandise in Borgin & Burkes. It was titled _Darke Magics_ , and the only reason why it hadn't been purchased yet that Azriel could think of was that everything but the title was written in Latin. Azriel was glad that Voldemort had made him learn the language - it would still be a struggle to read and would probably take quite a while, but Azriel was sure it would be worth it in the end. Considering how expensive the Hand of Glory had been, Azriel did not buy anything else there. His Mokeskin bag felt uncomfortably light, but he still had about ten galleons in it and he doubted he would be purchasing very much during the school year. It would be more than enough to tide him over till the summer.

They did not bother braving the crowd in Diagon Alley again; instead Voldemort Apparated them back to Azriel's cupboard. They were just in time to see the golden flash that signalled that Azriel had just used the time-turner.

They sat down cross-legged on Azriel's mattress, not bothering to enlarge the cupboard just for talking. _'I will be travelling for the next month at least,' Voldemort began. 'However, before I go, there are some things that I must tell you about Hogwarts._

_'First of all, be very careful around Dumbledore. He may be old, but he is very wise and knows just about everything that goes on in Hogwarts. Be careful where you go about any suspicious dealings and always have a good cover story ready._

_'Guard your thoughts; there are more creatures than just the occasional human who can read minds, and there are two known human Legilimens at Hogwarts._

_'Start thinking about your own group of followers - find those who might be willing to join the Dark Side, or, barring that, inspire such loyalty in those around you that they would rather follow you into Darkness than betray you by staying in the Light.You may find allies where you never expected them._

_'Practice all that I have taught you regularly -_ ' Voldemort glared at Azriel pointedly - _'and don't antagonise anybody too much. Don't dismiss what you learn at Hogwarts just because you know mind-magic - your mind may not always be clear enough to risk directing your magic without an external focus._

_'Be on the lookout for any clues about our companion - but above all, take of yourself. I would hate to lose you.'_

Voldemort ruffled Azriel's hair affectionately and Disapparated before Azriel could formulate an appropriate response.


	6. Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue swiped from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

September first dawned bright and early. Azriel awoke at six, as usual, and, since it was a special day, went outside into the garden to do his morning exercises. He started with a series of stretches, warming and loosening up his muscles, then he began his extended routine which encompassed a series of specified movements using all his various weapons, both separately and in combination with each other. When he was done with the last set of contortions, he sat down cross-legged under a tree to meditate, blissfully immersing himself in his magic. He emerged to one of his garden snake acquaintances frantically trying to wake him up.

' _The horse-woman is calling for you, Azriel; wake up!'_

' _Thank you, Siscilla; I will go to her immediately. May the mice flock to your den.'_

' _And may your stone always be warm.'_

Azriel looked at his watch. Quarter to nine. Perfect time to put his plan into motion.

Strolling into the kitchen, Azriel said in a pleasant voice, 'Sorry Aunt Petunia, I was outside talking to Siscilla.'

'Talking to whom?' Petunia asked sharply.

'Siscilla. She lives in the garden.'

'Don't talk rubbish, boy. Nobody lives in my garden.'

'The snakes do,' Azriel pointed out.

'What do snakes have to do with anything?' Petunia asked irritably.

'Siscilla is a snake,' Azriel answered simply.

Petunia stared at him. 'Don't talk nonsense,' she said finally. 'Snakes don't talk!'

'Correction,' Azriel countered calmly. 'Snakes don't talk to _you._ I, however, have no problem whatsoever conversing with them. I'm sorry for cutting this conversation short, but I really must go upstairs to get my trunk.'

'What do need a trunk for at this time of the year? You don't have a trunk anyway!' Petunia said shrilly.

'Sorry Auntie, but I do in fact have a trunk. I bought it in London because I needed one for my school supplies,' Azriel answered truthfully.

Petunia narrowed her eyes. 'You have no need for a trunk for your school supplies. And where did you get the money to buy a trunk? I hope you did not steal it, boy!'

'Don't worry, Auntie, it is all my own money. And I'm afraid I _do_ need that trunk - some of my supplies are quite bulky.'

Petunia seemed rather panicked by now. 'What do you mean, "Some of your supplies are quite bulky"?!' she screeched. 'All that you need in Stonewall will fit into one bag!'

'Oh but my dearest Aunt Petunia,' Azriel said sweetly, patting her arm, 'you are labouring under a misapprehension! I'm not going to Stonewall High. I'm going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm sure you've heard of it before. It's quite the prestigious school.'

For a moment it looked as if Petunia might faint. She breathed heavily a few times, then shrieked at the top of her voice, 'VERNON! COME HERE QUICK!'

Moments later, Vernon came thundering down the staircase in his blue-striped pyjamas, Dudley following close behind.

'What is it, my pet? Has the boy done something - freakish again?'

'Yes! He says he's going to - to _Hogwarts!'_

'I believe I said 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' Azriel interjected calmly.

Dudley stared stupidly for a moment before his brain worked out what Azriel had said, then he started laughing uproariously. 'Did - did you hear - what he said, Mum?' He stammered between giggles.

'This is not a laughing matter!' Petunia snapped. Dudley was so shocked he stopped laughing and just stared at his mother.

Vernon's face had by now turned an unhealthy purple. 'Now you look here, boy,' he puffed dangerously, grabbing Azriel by the arm. The next moment he jumped back with a yelp, cradling his hand to his body.

'Do not presume to touch me, muggle,' Azriel said coldly, his eyes flashing with an unholy gleam. The trunk crashed through the door of the cupboard under the stairs and hurtled towards Azriel, knocked over the still-staring Dudley, and came to a halt with the handle safe in Azriel's outstretched hand. Azriel shrunk it and threaded the handle through his belt. 'I'll be taking my leave now,' he said. 'I forbid you t o tell anyone of what happened this morning. Should anyone ask, you were the ones who told me about magic when I got my Hogwarts letter.' As he said this, he bound them with his magic so that they could neither say nor think the truth in anybody else's presence, nor communicate it to anyone through other means.

'I shall see you on the first of July.'

With that, he turned and walked out of the door, slamming it behind him. Concentrating his magic in the soles of his feet, he sped off towards Gilford.

When he arrived at the station, the clock over the entrance read ten past nine. Fifteen minutes. Not his best time yet. He still had seven minutes until the train arrived, though, so he quickly cast the Notice-Me-Not Charm and went through his luggage one last time to make absolutely sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He counted 21 books - the correct number - and one ridiculous hat squashed behind them; his wizarding robes were all there, and all his salvageable muggle clothing, too; his sword was packed safely in its sheath and swathed in one of his robes; his crystal phials were safely ensconced in a box that was wedged between his cauldron - which was filled with socks and underwear - and his Beginner's Potions Kit. His telescope was wrapped in another robe and his brass scales were stuck in a pair of Vernon's old socks which he had brought solely for that purpose. His pouch was hanging on his belt with his money and his train ticket still safely inside; his trunk went back on the other side of his belt; his thirteen daggers and other various weapons were where they were supposed to be, and his Hand of Glory - shrunken and taken off its pedestal - was curled around the ring finger of his right hand in a gruesome parody of a ring.

When the train finally pulled into the station, Azriel was waiting at the very edge of the platform and thus managed to grab a seat despite the crown surging onto the already full train.

The train arrived at King's Cross only two minutes after its scheduled arrival. Azriel let himself be carried along by the crowd until he arrived at the main entrance. He still had more than half an hour to spare, so he bought himself a breakfast of a croissant with jam and a cup of tea at one of the cafes in the station. That done, he looked at his train ticket - and stopped short: The Hogwarts Express left at eleven o'clock from platform nine and three-quarters. There was no way muggles would have that nonsensical a platform number. That meant that he had ten minutes to find a platform that was most likely hidden by magic.

Cursing himself for not checking his ticket earlier, Azriel pushed his way through the crowd to platform nine. The large clock over the arrivals board showed an ominous five to eleven. He stopped right in front of the divide between platforms nine and ten, barely avoiding getting run over by the multitude of muggles who all seemed to be running late. Four minutes left. Quickly Azriel stretched out his magic in search of something unusual - and to his relief, he found that the divide he was standing in front of was radiating magic like nothing muggle-made ever could. Azriel came closer and reached out to examine it - and to his surprise, his fingers went through the wall. It seemed he had found the entrance to platform nine and three-quarters.

He stepped through the barrier and found himself on a platform that was teeming with just as many people as platform nine - but the people here were quite obviously wizards, more than half of them wearing robes, the rest either children or wearing something that was muggle but was… _unusually_ combined. Evidently wizards had no experience in dressing like muggles. One man seemed to be wearing a dress.

The cacophony of noises was deafening - wizards chatting with each other, children laughing, shrieking and making a general nuisance of themselves, mothers either shouting for their children to 'come back here at once, do you hear?' or wailing that their 'poor little baby is all grown up now!' Not to mention the animals - thousands of owls hooting at each other, cats meowing, toads croaking and a whole horde of other animals which Azriel was sure would _never_ be allowed as pets at Hogwarts. He would have liked to look around a little longer, but he tore himself away from the milling witches and wizards and climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express with only a minute to spare.

He soon found himself an empty compartment and sat down n one of the window seats, then thought better of it and took out one set of Hogwarts robes from his trunk. He pulled the robes over his head and set the hat on the seat beside him. He would _not_ wear that ridiculous thing until he absolutely had to.

By the time the train started moving, Azriel had started reading _Wizarding Laws of Britain Past and Present - A Layman's Guide_ by Justus Dronne; he was puzzling out the particulars of the Warlock Convention of 1709 when the door to the compartment slid open and a boy his age with shockingly red hair tentatively stuck his head inside the compartment. 'Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?' he asked. 'Everywhere else is full.'

'Of course I don't mind,' Azriel said pleasantly. 'Please, make yourself at home.'

The boy awkwardly pushed his bulky trunk into a corner and sat down in the seat opposite Azriel. 'I'm Ron, Ron Weasley,' he said, 'and you?'

Before Azriel could answer, the door slid open again and two identical redheads strolled in.

'Is ickle Ronniekins all comfortable?' the one on the right asked.

Ron's face turned as red as his hair. 'Shut up, Fred,' he growled.

'Oh dearest brother, it seems our ickle Ronniekins is getting angry,' the other twin said dramatically. 'Whatever are we going to do to remedy the situation?'

'I do not know, brother-dearest,' the one named Fred sighed, 'but how about we ask Ronnie's new friend who he is?'

Three expectant faces turned towards Azriel. 'I'm Harry Potter,' he said, steeling himself for their reaction.

Sure enough, three jaws fell open in surprise.

'Are - are you really -' Ron asked in awe.

Instead of answering, Azriel pulled back his fringe to reveal the lightning-bolt shaped scar. Three pairs of eyes were magnetically drawn to his forehead.

'Is that where -' Ron started.

'It is,' Azriel answered seriously.

The as-of-yet unnamed twin recovered first. 'Well, since you introduced yourself so favourably, we really must return the favour.'

Together, the twins chorused, 'Fred and George Weasley at your service!' and performed a silly little bow, taking off imaginary hats in a sweeping gesture.

'And this is our ickle brother Ronnie!' George added, ruffling Ron's hair.

'My - name - is - _Ron!'_ Ron said thickly, trying to push George's arm off him.

'As interesting as this conversation is, we will take our leave,' Fred said, bowing once more to Azriel.

'Yes, Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula back n the middle of the train,' George explained. 'Hey Ronnie, want to join us?'

'Oh Merlin no,' Ron said with a shudder. 'Anything but that!'

'He hates spiders, you know,' George told Azriel with a wink, then he, too, bowed and left the apartment together with Fred.

Azriel realised it was a gratifying feeling to have someone bow to him, even if it was merely in jest. He remembered that the Weasleys were an old pureblood family that had been Light for centuries. Therefore, Azriel would befriend Ron and his brothers. Hopefully he would one day see the twins bowing down to him once more.

'What year are Fred and George?' Azriel asked Ron.

'Second,' Ron answered absently, still staring at Azriel's now-covered forehead. 'Do you remember anything about that night?'

'Well, yes,' Azriel replied. 'I vividly remember a lot of green light, which I suppose was the Avada Kedavra. I often hear a kind of high-pitched screaming in my nightmares, but it doesn't sound like a woman's voice at all, so I assume that was Voldemort being ripped from his body when the Killing Curse rebounded onto him.'

Ron was gaping at him again. Azriel smirked internally and innocently asked, 'What?'

'You - you said You-Know-Who's name!' Ron sounded impressed. 'I thought you of all people -'

'Why should I be afraid of saying his name?' Azriel asked rhetorically. 'I seem to have some inherent protection against him, so I have nothing to fear, and neither does anyone else until he comes back again. The only reason people used to avoid saying his name was because he cursed it and that curse evaporated along with his body, but people are still afraid of saying the name and they don't even know why.'

'How do you _know_ so much?'

Azriel shrugged. 'My relatives never had much time for me, so I spent most of my days in the library. Then when I found out about magic, I wanted to learn as much as possible about the wizarding world.' He sighed demonstratively. 'But all my knowledge is just book knowledge. Your two brothers probably taught you so much already when your parents weren't looking!' Azriel said with a laugh.

'Five brothers,' Ron answered gloomily. 'Charlie and Bill are out of Hogwarts already, and then there's Percy the Prefect of course… and none of them ever bothered teaching me anything - George gave me one spell when I got my wand; he said it would turn Scabbers yellow - Scabbers is my pet rat.'

He pulled a sleeping rat out of his pocket. Its fur was grey and it was rather fat. Azriel thought he could hear it snoring.

'He used to belong to Percy, but when he was made Prefect, Dad bought him an owl,' Ron continued, 'so I got Scabbers.'

'Can you show me that spell?' Azriel asked curiously.

'Well, I tried it out yesterday, but it didn't work,' Ron answered hesitantly, 'but I might as well try it again.'

He took out his wand - it was old and battered, and Azriel could see the unicorn hair sticking out - and tapped Scabbers' head with it, saying,

'Sunshine, daisies, butter, mellow,

turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.'

Nothing happened.

'Are you sure that's a real spell?' Azriel asked. 'As far as I know, most spells are usually shorter and in Latin or some other ancient language. Have you tried focussing your energy into making him yellow? Perhaps if you imagined him as having bright yellow fur, it might work.'

Ron was staring at Azriel _again._ Azriel hoped this would not become a common occurrence.

'I never thought of that,' Ron said finally. 'I think I'll try that.'

Just as he was readying himself to cast the spell again, the door to their compartment slid open and a friendly-looking witch stuck her head in. 'Anything off the trolley, dearies?' she asked.

Ron shook his head. 'I have sandwiches,' he said ruefully.

Azriel himself wasn't too keen on sweets, but he knew that back in primary school, friends had always shared their lunches. ''Please wait a moment,' he told the lady, 'I would like something.'

He turned to Ron. 'What would you recommend? I'm afraid I know next to nothing about wizard sweets.'

'Well, Chocolate Frogs are good, and Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans are fun, but you have to be careful - when they say every flavour, they _mean_ every flavour. Cockroach Clusters are quite delicious - they're actually roasted almonds covered in chocolate. The rest is nice too, of course, except for the Blood Pops - those actually taste of blood; I think only vampires could enjoy that taste!' He shuddered in disgust.

Azriel was inclined to disagree, but he said nothing and just went outside to the trolley.

He came back loaded with an armful of Every-Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes and some of every item the lady had had. The two dozen Blood Pops that he had bought were safely stored in his trunk where Ron would not see them - no need to clue him in to his unusual nature yet…

He had spent almost half of his money on sweets, but when he saw the hungry look which Ron bore as he eyed the sweets he decided it had probably been worth it. 'Well I _am_ silly,' he said, scratching his head in feigned confusion as he surveyed the pile of sweets on the seat. 'I will _never_ be able to eat all that? Want to share?'

To his surprise, Azriel had fun sharing his sweets with Ron. They laughed over the flavours the other got when they were eating the Every-Flavour Beans (Azriel got jam, raisin, salt, rancid butter, dragon's blood resin - it tasted disgusting - and iron) and dared each other to try suspicious-looking ones (a grey one Azriel tried turned out to be nothing worse than pepper). His first Chocolate Frog almost got away from him, but he managed to catch it just as it was making a break for freedom through the open window. Though neither he nor Ron got the cards Ron was looking for - Agrippa and Ptolemy - his first card was Aleister Crowley, a dark wizard who apparently practiced 'various forms of dark magic' and experimented with ritual magic. Azriel took the card as a good sign and quietly put it in his pocket. He also got Merlin, Hermes Trismegistos, Morgana (another good sign) and Harced the Crimson before he decided he had more than enough of chocolate and started on the Pumpkin Pasties. They were refreshingly different from what he was used to.

Just as he was about to start on the Cauldron Cakes, the door slid open again and a round-faced boy peered around the door. 'Have either of you seen a toad anywhere?' he asked tearfully.

'No, I'm sorry, we haven't,' Azriel answered.

'I've lost him!' the boy wailed. 'Gran will be so angry!'

'I'm sure you'll find your toad eventually,' Azriel comforted him. 'Here, have a Chocolate Frog.'

'Thank you,' the boy sniffed. When he saw the card, he gave them a watery smile. 'I got Dumbledore!' he said.

'Take it as a good sign,' Azriel told him.

'Thanks. I will. I'm Neville by the way. Neville Longbottom.'

'I'm Ron Weasley.'

'Harry Potter.'

'Honestly?!'

'Yes, I'm afraid so. Want to see the scar? Or hear my version of Halloween '81? Azriel replied sarcastically.

'Oh dear, I'm sure lots of people have asked you that already,' Neville said with a bashful grin. 'I've heard more than enough accounts of that night from my relatives, but -' he blushed - ' _could_ I see your scar? I heard curse scars look quite different from normal scars.'

'They do,' Azriel confirmed, pulling back his fringe once more. 'See how it looks like I got it barely a few weeks ago? It's always been like this.'

Neville examined the scar curiously, then shook his head as if he were shaking water from his ears. 'I'm sorry for staring,' he said sincerely. 'I'm sure you get far too much of that anyway.'

Azriel smiled. 'It can get rather annoying, yes, but I suppose it is only natural that people stare. It's far more annoying when people I have never seen before come up to me in shops, bow and just leave without a word.'

The other two gaped. 'Honestly?' Ron asked. 'Who would be that crazy?'

'I later found out his name was Dedalus Diggle,' Azriel replied wryly. 'I heard he is known as quite the crackpot.'

'Oh yes, I remember Dad saying something about him recently,' Ron said. 'Something about selling singing teapots to muggles, I think.'

Neville shook his head. 'And they say muggles are strange.'

After another Chocolate Frog, Neville bade them goodbye and continued on his search for the errant toad.

Barely ten minutes had passed before the door slid open yet again, admitting two brutish boys that looked about as intelligent as Dudley (in other words, not so very far above the IQ of a boulder) and the pointy-faced Malfoy Azriel had met at Madam Malkins.

'They say Harry Potter is on the train,' he began arrogantly, then he spotted Azriel sitting quietly in his corner. 'Oh, it's _you!'_

'So we meet again,' Azriel acknowledged calmly. 'Did you manage to get your racing broom?'

The Malfoy scowled. 'No. My father said the commercial brooms were far too plebeian for a Malfoy; he will buy me a far superior one in France. Speaking of which, I am Draco Malfoy.'

Ron snorted.

Draco turned on him. 'Think my name is funny, do you?' he sneered. 'Well, it's not to difficult to find out who _you_ are - my father says all Weasleys have hair that looks like their head's on fire and far more children than they can afford.'

Ignoring Ron's reddening face, he turned again to Azriel.

'You'll soon find out some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. I can help you in choosing the right ones as your acquaintances.'

He held out his hand to Azriel.

Azriel got up and bowed slightly to Draco.

'I am certain that you could,' he began, 'however, I am afraid I am unable to accept your offer of sodality at this present moment. You have injudiciously disparaged my companion and I fear I cannot disregard such misconduct. I am not repudiating your offer, merely adjourning this discussion until a more propitious time. If you cannot reconcile yourself with this situation then I must ask you to leave. Would any of you like a Chocolate Frog?'

Everyone blinked at this non sequitur.

The boulder on the left moved first, reaching out his hand for a Chocolate Frog. The other boulder quickly followed suit, and the movement seemed enough to shake both Ron and Draco out of their daze. Azriel could distinctly see the wheels turning in the Malfoy's head - he had evidently understood nothing of his beautifully crafted speech, only that Azriel had not accepted his hand of friendship.

'Well, we'll be going then, Crabbe, Goyle,' he said finally. 'This won't be the last you see of me, Potter.'

'I should hope not!' Azriel answered agreeably.

Now utterly confused, Draco led his two bodyguards out of the compartment and even shut the door behind them.

'Okay, what was _that_ all about?' Ron asked in amazement.

Azriel smiled wryly. 'Basically I told him that he couldn't be my friend at the moment because he was stupid enough to insult you. Then I asked him to leave if h did not like that.'

A slow grin spread across Ron' face, then he started chortling. 'The best part,' he said between chuckles, 'is that Malfoy had no idea what you had just said to him! Oh, the look of confusion on his face was priceless!'

'Well, the look on _your_ face wasn't half bad either,' Azriel countered. 'Frankly, Draco really is an arrogant brat at the moment. But I'm hoping that he will be more bearable when he grows a little older and hopefully wiser.'

'Why do you call him "Draco"?' Ron asked suspiciously.

'Because otherwise I would constantly confuse him with Lucius Malfoy,' Azriel answered simply. 'They do look rather similar, don't they?'

'Well, everyone says the Weasleys all look identical, too,' Ron said. 'I think it's something to do with being an ancient pureblood family and all that.'

'Speaking of which, what's your family like, anyway?' Azriel asked curiously.

From then on, laughter was often heard coming from their compartment as Ron regaled Azriel with stories of Fred and George's exploits, Percy's affectations and tales of Charlie's various run-ins with angry dragons - who more often than not did rather stupid things which made for excellent comedy. They were sniggering about the time Fred and George had put a frog in Percy's pyjamas (he had screamed louder than Ginny) when the door opened _again_ and a bushy-haired girl came in. 'Do you mind if I sit here? The people in the aisles are behaving very childishly, running around and screaming like maniacs.'

'Well' it's been a long train ride,' Azriel said, 'most people can't sit still for that long. But of course you are welcome stay here if it annoys you.'

'Thank you,' the girl said, settling down on one of the seats not covered in sweets and empty wrappers. 'I'm Hermione Granger.'

'Ron Weasley.'

'Harry Potter, and please don't tell me how famous I am. I _know_. Want to see my scar?'

'Oh dear,' Hermione said sheepishly, 'I _was_ about to tell you all the books I read about you. Do you actually remember anything of that night?'

'Yes, a green coruscation and a high-pitched scream.'

Hermione nodded in complete understanding, but Ron complained, 'can we agree not to talk like we've just swallowed a dictionary?'

'Sorry,' Azriel said contritely. 'I'll try to tone it down. Oh and Ron, we're probably arriving soon. I suggest you change into your robes.'

'Oh, all right,' Ron grumbled and pulled out a set of rather battered-looking robes, pulling them on unceremoniously. He looked down at himself. 'You can see my trainers. Ah well, it will just have to do.'

'Wait, let me help you with that,' Hermione said, pulling out her wand and pointing it at the edge of Ron's robes. ' _Extende!_ '

The edge frayed and grew tendrils which extended and wove together to form new material. Ron looked down at his robes that were now at the proper length. 'Wow!' he said in an impressed voice. 'Where did you find that spell? My Mum never uses it!'

'Well, it only keeps for about an hour or so, and repeated enchantment weakens the material,' Hermione lectured. 'However, it should hold till after the Sorting. We want to look presentable after all. By the way, did you know you had dirt on your nose? Perhaps you better get rid of that, too.'

Ron scowled at her. 'I _know_. My Mum couldn't get it off.'

'Well, I'd use _scourgify_ -' Hermione started.

'-but it tends to burn off half your skin, so that's not an option.' Azriel finished. 'We could always change the colour of the dirt to resemble a freckle, though…'

'Is that something like the spell we tried on Scabbers?' Ron asked suspiciously.

Azriel half smiled. 'No, this spell actually works.' Without waiting for a response, he took out his wand, pointed it at Ron's face and muttered something unintelligible under his breath while sending out his magic to change the colour of the spot of dirt. No-one noticed he had not used a real spell.

'Why am I the only one not able to cast a proper spell in here,' Ron grumbled.

'Because we practiced, Ron,' Hermione reminded him.

'Well, you try practicing magic with your mother always looking over your shoulder to make sure you _don't_ do any magic!' Ron snapped.

'All right, is everyone ready?' Azriel asked to break up the impending argument. 'All presentable? Does my hair look even remotely combed?'

Hermione giggled. 'I'm afraid not, Harry, but mine's not much better either.'

Ron preened. 'I'm the only one with hair that does as it's told,' he said in a sniffy voice.

'Yes, all hail the master of the hair!' Hermione said sarcastically.

'You know, there actually was a dark lord once who called himself that,' Azriel said.

Hermione and Ron stared at him. 'Honestly?' Ron asked sceptically. 'That doesn't seem like much of a name for a dark lord.'

'Well, he was known as a bit of a nutcase,' Azriel conceded. 'Consequently, the leaders of the light didn't take him seriously and he managed to take over almost two thirds of Britain before they realised he was even a threat.'

Hermione shook her head. 'That's a crazy story if ever I heard one,' she said.

'Never underestimate your enemy, huh?' Ron added.

Before Azriel could answer, a disembodied voice echoed eerily through the train: 'We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.'

They were quiet as the train pulled into the station, each lost in their own thoughts. Everyone crowded out of the train and onto the small platform that was dimly lit by a single white lamp. The cold night air made the three shiver after being in the warm train for so long. They looked around for further instruction and spotted a yellow lantern bobbing above the heads of the other students. The hand holding it was about the size of a dustbin lid and belonged to a giant of a man who towered seven feet above everyone else. He was calling, 'Firs'-years over here! Firs'-years!'

The trio pushed their way through the milling students towards the giant. He continued calling, 'Firs'-years! Any more firs'-years? Firs'-years to me!' until it seemed that all new students had assembled in front of him, pale and shivering with both the cold and nerves.

'Alrigh' then, everyone here? I'm Hagrid, the Keeper of Key and Grounds at Hogwarts. I'll be leadin' yeh to yer Sorting. Follow me - an' mind yer step, the path is steep!'

They stumbled their way down the narrow path. Azriel could clearly see the dense trees all around them. They seemed to be going through a part of the fabled Forbidden Forest. As he carefully avoided a particularly slippery-looking patch, he spared a thought for the others who had neither his training nor a Hand of Glory.

'Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec,' Hagrid the Keeper of Keys and Grounds called over his shoulder, 'jus' round this bend here.' 0

There was a chorus of 'Oooooh!'s.

The path had suddenly opened up onto the edge of a vast black lake. Perched atop a mountain on the other side was a great castle with a multitude of towers and turrets. The windows reflected the light of the stars and the moon was just peaking over the highest tower. Azriel stared. So _this_ was Hogwarts. Wanting to take it in with all possible senses, he stretched out his magic to touchtaste the magic of Hogwarts - and this time he was the one who stumbled... right into the lake. Quickly he clambered back onto the bank, coughing and spluttering as the foul lake-water assaulted his taste-buds.

Hagrid came bustling over and laid a surprisingly gentle hand on Azriel's shoulder. 'Are yeh alrigh'?' he asked in a worried voice.

'Yes, I'm fine,' Azriel hastened to assure him. 'I just tripped over a root.'

In reality, he had stumbled out of shock. He had not been ready for the sheer _size_ of the node under Hogwarts - it was bigger than any he had ever encountered and its magic was infused in every pore of Hogwarts, making the effect even greater. Azriel frowned. Until he got used to the overwhelming presence of magic here, he wouldn't be able to cast even the simplest spells outside of his own body. He couldn't even dry his robes. Silently he cursed his bad luck. He could keep himself warm, but he would look ridiculous standing in front of the whole school in soaked robes.

'No more 'n four to a boat!' Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats right next to the place Azriel had fallen in. He had been so shocked by the node he had not even noticed them. Azriel berated himself furiously for not being more observant - he couldn't start forgetting all that Voldemort had taught him just when he was venturing into enemy territory.

Morosely he followed Ron and Hermione and climbed into one of the boats with them where they were joined by Neville who evidently still hadn't found his toad.

'Everyone in?' Hagrid, who occupied a whole boat to himself, shouted. 'Right then - FORWARD!'

The whole fleet started moving at once, gliding across the smooth surface of the lake. Everyone was silent, staring at the castle overhead - except for Azriel who had no eyes for the grand scenery, too busy fuming at himself.

'Heads down!' Hagrid yelled as the first boats neared the cliff which Hogwarts was standing on. They all ducked as they were carried though a curtain of ivy and into a dark tunnel that ultimately led into a kind of underground harbour.

'Oy, you there! Is this your toad?' asked Hagrid, who had been checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

'Trevor!' Neville cried joyfully, clutching the toad tight to his chest. Trevor made an unhappy little croaking noise that clearly conveyed his displeasure at being caught again.

They followed Hagrid's lamp up a dark passageway that finally emerged onto the grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a great flight of stairs and crowded onto the top few steps in front of the gigantic, oaken front door.

'Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?'

Satisfied with the silence as answer enough, Hagrid turned around and knocked loudly on the castle door. It swung open at once, revealing a tall, black-haired which in emerald green robes standing in the hall. Azriel immediately saw he would need to be careful around her - her sharp eyes looked like nothing could escape her notice.

'The firs' years, Professor McGonagall,' Hagrid said.

'Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.'

She led them into the gigantic Entrance Hall. It was so large that Azriel could barely make out the intricate geometric designs on the ceiling. McGonagall led them right past a huge marble staircase and into a small empty chamber off the hall.

'Welcome to Hogwarts,' McGonagall said. 'The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of the house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

'The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin after the four founders of this school. Each house has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

'The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.'

'Excuse me, Professor?' Azriel spoke up, purposefully making his voice quaver as if with nerves. 'I tripped and fell into the lake, and I don't know any drying spells yet.' He ducked his head in feigned embarrassment.

'Well in that case, come over here,' McGonagall ordered sternly.

Azriel pushed his way through the crowd. McGonagall waved her wand and Azriel's robes steamed as all the water evaporated. Azriel released the magic that had been keeping him warm and bowed his head to the professor. 'I thank you, Professor,' he said formally.

'You're welcome. Does anyone else need help? No? Then I shall return for you when we are ready to begin the Sorting. Please wait quietly.'

She left the chamber and Azriel went back to Ron and Hermione.

'Wow, that was really brave of you, asking such an intimidating professor for a favour,' Hermione said admiringly.

'So you think I'll be in Gryffindor?' Azriel asked laughingly.

'Oh, I hope I'm in Gryffindor!' Hermione burst out. 'Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad I Suppose, but Slytherin would rip me apart and Hufflepuff doesn't sound too exciting; I heard Dumbledore was a Gryffindor when he was here as a student!'

'I bet I'm in Gryffindor,' Ron said gloomily. 'My whole family has been in Gryffindor for generations. It's not going to change now.'

'Why not?' Azriel asked reasonably. 'Why don't you shock your parents and go to Slytherin? Wouldn't that be amusing?'

Ron sneered. 'Why would I want to be a Slytherin? There wasn't a single wizard who went dark who wasn't in Slytherin.'

'Correction. There were. In fact, some of the most notorious Death Eaters were Hufflepuff, though they did their best to hide the fact. After all, you have to be quite loyal to follow Voldemort even so far as to welcome Azkaban as a test of your loyalty.'

'Who did that?' Hermione asked. 'I didn't read about that.'

'Well, the Lestranges and Bartemius Crouch, actually,' Azriel answered, 'though only Crouch was a Hufflepuff. The case was covered up because Crouch was the son of the Head of the Auror Department in the Ministry of Magic. It was quite a scandal.'

Ron had just opened his mouth to respond when someone screamed and everyone spun around to see why - only to come face-to-face with about a dozen semi-transparent ghosts floating through the wall, arguing loudly. None of them seemed to notice the first-years. A fat monk was saying, 'Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him another chance -'

'My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and he's not even a real ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?'

A ghost dressed in the 16th century uniform of a judge had noticed them.

'We are waiting to be sorted, your worship,' Azriel answered politely.

'Oh how wonderful, a polite youngster!' the ghostly judge cried out jubilantly. 'We don't get many of those here anymore. Did you here that?' he asked the other ghosts. 'I haven't been addressed properly since that other boy was here - what was his name again - ah yes, Tom Riddle!'

'My dear Flavius, Tom Riddle was at this school fifty years ago,' a woman in a simple mediaeval dress said gently. 'He's been gone for quite a while.'

'That long, eh?' the ghost named Flavius said cheerfully. 'Ah well, I suppose I lost track of time, then, didn't I?'

'Yes. You've been sleeping for the last forty years,' a dark-looking man with thick eyebrows said sourly.

The Fat Friar who had spoken before rolled his eyes and winked at the students. 'Those two have never gotten along,' he said in a stage whisper. 'You see, unfortunately, Flavius was the one who sentenced Trajan to death even though he was innocent.

'Well, we really must be going. Hope to see you in Hufflepuff - my old house, you know!'

Still arguing - this time over who showed more signs of old age - the ghosts floated though the wall that presumably led to the Great Hall.

Just as the last ghosts had vanished, McGonagall returned.

'Form a line, everyone,' she said sharply, 'and follow me.'

Azriel waited until everyone was ready and quietly took his place at the very end of the line. He would rather not have anyone behind him if he could avoid it.

They all trooped into the noisy hall behind McGonagall. In the space of one second, Azriel had identified all exits and obstacles - five tables, two steps leading up to one table, a door behind selfsame table, the door they had just come through, large double doors next to it, candles hanging in the air - that meant he couldn't jump properly.

To his chagrin, McGonagall led them to the front and directed them to face the students - but their backs to the teachers. Azriel nervously tried not to look over his shoulder constantly.

To distract himself, he looked up at the night sky and started identifying all the constellations. There was Ursa Major, there Pegasus -

Out of the corner of his eye he saw McGonagall place an old hat on a stool in front of the line of first-years. He stopped looking for Cassiopeia and turned his attention to what could only be the Sorting Hat.

His guess was confirmed when a rip opened at the brim and the hat burst into song:

' _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_ _  
But don't judge on what you see,_  
 _I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

The whole Hall burst into applause when the Hat finished its song. It bowed once to each table and then became deceptively immobile once more. The first-years gave a collective sigh of relief - all they had to do was try on an old hat to get sorted!

McGonagall, who was holding a long roll of parchment, now stepped forward and said, 'When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.

'Abbott, Hannah!'

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

'Bones, Susan!'

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

'Boot, Terry!'

'RAVENCLAW!'

Azriel took careful note of where everybody went. Brown, Lavender, and Finnegan, Seamus were the first Gryffindors and both Hermione and Neville joined the scarlet-and-gold house, too. Very well, he would definitely have to be sorted into Gryffindor, too, then.

Draco Malfoy was immediately sorted into Slytherin where he joined his bodyguards that were apparently named Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle - though why those two hadn't been sorted into Hufflepuff was a mystery to Azriel.

'Potter, Harry!'

The Hall went dead silent for a moment before whispers started spreading like a wildfire through the throng of students.

'Did she just say _Potter_?'

' _The_ Harry Potter?'

Azriel ignored the whispers and strode regally to the stool. As soon as the Hat fell down over his ears the babbling of the students was cut off.

'Hm, difficult, very difficult,' a little voice said in his mind.

Azriel forced himself not to clamp down on the alien presence.

'Plenty of courage, I see, and a brilliant mind - well, well, well, what do we have here? False memories - how fascinating! And what have you done with the real ones?'

 _Do you need to know in order to sort me?_ Azriel replied warily.

'What a Slytherin question!' the hat said delightedly.

 _I'm not going to Slytherin,_ Azriel thought quickly.

'Oh, but why ever not?' the hat asked in an offended tone.

 _Because all my friends are in Gryffindor! They will hate me if I land in Slytherin!_ Azriel thought in a sniffly voice.

'Well, I'm not sure,' the hat said. 'You'd do well in any house - but you really are quite cunning indeed, and such an ambition I have not seen in a long while. Yes, I think you belong in -'

 _Wait!_ Azriel broke in hurriedly. _You are sworn to secrecy, are you not?_

'That I am,' the hat answered cheerfully. 'Are you going to show me your real memories then?'

 _Only if you swear to put me in Gryffindor. It's too dangerous for me in Slytherin,_ Azriel replied.

The hat grumbled for a moment. 'Well, I _am_ rather curious - but we really shouldn't delay this any longer - though you could visit me later this year, it does get rather boring - but I shouldn't let myself be influenced by a student -'

 _If you really think I'm a Slytherin, then that's all the more reason to put me in Gryffindor,_ Azriel thought in his most persuasive voice. _After all, only a true Slytherin could survive in Gryffindor without arousing suspicion._

The hat laughed. 'I like that! All right, I'll put you in Gryffindor, but you must promise to visit me sometime this year.'

 _I promise,_ Azriel answered immediately.

'Right then, so off you go to GRYFFINDOR!'

Azriel carefully lifted the hat off his head as the hall erupted into cheers. The Weasley twins were shouting, 'We got Potter! We got Potter!' while doing a passable imitation of an Indian victory dance on top of the Gryffindor table.

Azriel squeezed himself onto the end of the bench next to Neville and opposite Hermione, who grinned widely at him.

'What took you so long?' Neville whispered to Azriel. 'You were sitting there for almost five minutes!'

'Well, the hat couldn't decide where to put me,' Azriel answered. 'It wanted to put me in Ravenclaw but I convinced it to put me in Gryffindor. Now hush, Ron is being sorted.'

Indeed, Ron had just been called up by McGonagall. He was rather green in the face. Azriel wondered what he was so worried about if he knew he'd be in Gryffindor anyway.

True to form, the hat needed barely a second to put Ron in Gryffindor. Azriel clapped along with everyone else, though he refrained from whooping and cheering raucously like the Weasley twins.

Ron sat down next to Hermione with a relieved grin on his face. 'We're all in Gryffindor!' he said jubilantly. 'Well, except for Malfoy and his cronies, of course,' he added darkly.

Azriel barely contained a snort. 'Yes, a Malfoy in Gryffindor - I would have loved to see that!'

The others collectively shuddered at the thought.

Now Dumbledore stood up and clapped his hands thrice. The Hall fell silent as everyone looked up at the beaming headmaster.

Dumbledore spread out his arms as if he were about to embrace the entire great hall. 'Welcome!' he said. 'Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!

'Thank you.'

He sat down and the hall burst into applause. There was a chorus of gasps from the first-years as they saw that the dishes - just a moment ago empty - were now filled with a huge variety of food.

Azriel frowned. There was hardly anything here that _he_ liked to eat - three quarters of the dishes were meat, and the rest seemed to be mostly potatoes (in various forms) and other side dishes. He would have to find out where the kitchen was and ask the house-elves to cook some other things, too.

Eventually he settled on potatoes, carrots and peas. It was nice enough, but he dearly wished for a nice salad.

The puddings were more to his liking. Apple pies, strawberries, watermelon - Azriel made sure he piled his plate high with that - and a whole host of other sweets. He kept quite as the others around him started talking about their families. He was not about to tell everybody about _his_ family. Though he would have loved to see the looks on their faces when they realised that _the_ Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, considered _Voldemort_ family…

At last the food disappeared and Dumbledore stood up again.

'Ahem - just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

'First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.'

He turned his eyes toward the Weasley twins, who tried and failed to look innocent.

'I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

'Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.'

'What's Quidditch?' Dean Thomas asked in a whisper. Seamus Finnegan and Ron immediately launched in to a long and enthusiastic explanation of the game.

'And finally, I must tell you that this year the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.' Dumbledore continued.

Some people laughed, but most looked grim. Dumbledore did not talk lightly about death. Azriel was merely curious; what could it be that was so dangerous? And if it was that deadly, then why on earth were they keeping it in a school? Perhaps he could see what was hidden in the third floor corridor when he had a free minute.

'And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!' Dumbledore cried enthusiastically, disregarding both the still whispering students and the teachers, who were looking anything _but_ enthusiastic.

Dumbledore flicked his wand and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, rose high into the air and formed the words of the song.

'Everyone pick their favourite tune,' Dumbledore said, 'and off we go!'

Everyone started bellowing the song. Azriel refrained from singing; for one thing, he had no 'favourite tune' and for another, he was not about to sing those ridiculous words if he could help it. 'Hoggy Warty Hogwarts', indeed!

Finally the Weasleys finished singing their version of the song - a very slow funeral march. They shouldn't be too difficult to convince to join the Dark if Azriel found the right words.

'Ah, music,' Dumbledore said when the clapping died down. 'A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!'

Azriel tried not to cringe at the old man's choice of words. He joined the rest of the Gryffindor first-years in following Percy the Prefect out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase. Percy led them past portraits that whispered and pointed, through doors disguised as walls and fanciful tapestries, up yet more staircases until they came to a sudden stop.

A dozen or so walking sticks were floating ahead of them and as Percy moved towards them they started throwing themselves at him one by one. Percy dodged them and the first-years had to duck to avoid getting hit.

'Peeves,' Percy whispered in explanation. 'A poltergeist.' In a loud voice, he commanded, 'Peeves - show yourself.'

Naught happened but a loud, rude sound coming from where the rest of the walking sticks were still hanging.

'Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?'

There was a loud _pop_ and the poltergeist appeared. He was a petty-looking man with dark eyes glittering with malice and a wide, mischievous grin.

'Oooooooooooooh!' he said and cackled. 'Ickle firsties! What fun!'

Azriel dearly wished for his magic to teach that annoying little idiot a lesson.

'Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!' Percy barked.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and dropped the walking sticks on Azriel. He leapt out of the way across the heads of the other first-years. There was a chorus of gasps.

Peeves cackled again. 'Missed this time, did I? Well, there's always a next time!' And with that he zoomed off, rattling the coats of armour as he went.

'How did you _do_ that?' Ron whispered in awe. 'You must've jumped at least six feet into the air!'

'I've been trained in martial arts,' Azriel answered. 'That's the kind of thing we learned.'

It was quite funny, Azriel mused. Now all the first-years would look up to him, and all he had done was save his own head.

Finally they reached a portrait of a very fat woman in a bright pink dress.

'Password?' she asked.

' _Caput Draconis_ ,' Percy answered and the portrait swung outwards to reveal the Gryffindor common room. The bright red and gold of the interior hurt Azriel's eyes.

Their dormitory was better: the walls were a simple white and the curtains around each bed were a deep-red rather than the bright, glaring red of the common room armchairs. Nobody said very much, too tired to do anything more than change into their pyjamas and crawl into bed.

Azriel did not go to sleep immediately but sat up first to reflect upon the events of the day and to meditate. First he went into his mind to see if everything was still in order. Yes, all his suspicious memories were still being directed to his Corridor of Magic and a thin film of mist obscured all his current thoughts from examination. Gladly he walked further down the Corridor of Magic and ecstatically immersed himself in his core. His last thought before all thoughts left him was that he needed to get used to the ambient magic in Hogwarts as soon as possible.


	7. Lessons Learned and Lessons Planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue swiped from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

Azriel wished they had had a few days to get used to Hogwarts before the classes began. Professor McGonagall, their Head of House, passed out their timetables at breakfast on Monday and the first-years spent the rest of the day getting lost in the multitude of corridors at Hogwarts and coming late to class. Hermione and Azriel spent the rest of the day (after doing their homework, of course) dragging Ron around the entire castle (avoiding both the caretaker Filch who was as nasty as his name implied and his equally mean cat Mrs Norris) so they would know where to go for their classes. Ron grumbled the whole way about how he'd much rather play chess or Quidditch or _anything_ , but come Tuesday he admitted that it had been worth it – they were still one of the few who came on time to every single class.

The classes themselves frustrated Azriel to no end. On one hand, he knew most of the theory already as he had read all his school books and a number of other books on the subjects, too. On the other hand, he had not thought to practice using a wand beforehand, so he had to struggle just as much as the others with his spells. His knowledge of wandless magic proved useless: the first time he tried to transfigure a matchstick into a needle in their first Transfiguration class it exploded, blasting a hole into the table. McGonagall repaired the table and told Azriel to put less power into the spell next time.

By the end of the class, only Hermione had managed to make any noteworthy changes to her matchstick: McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all shiny and pointy. She awarded Hermione with five house points and told everyone to practice the spell for homework.

Needless to say, Azriel was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. The other classes did nothing to improve his temper, either; History of Magic was taught by a ghost who was easily the most boring teacher you could imagine. As he droned on and on about the goblin wars, Azriel decided he would have to do some independent research if he wanted to learn _anything_ about history.

Charms was the last subject of the day (thank the Goddess), and Azriel decided he couldn't stand the tiny Professor Flitwick: He started the class by taking the register and when he came to the name _Harry Potter_ , he squeaked and toppled off the pile of books he was standing on.

Azriel was starting to hate that name; everywhere he went, whispers and stares followed him, but nobody was ever actually brave enough to ask if they could see his scar. Azriel solved the problem in his house by announcing to everyone one evening that he would answer any questions they had now if they stopped treating him like a curiosity from the zoo. That helped a lot and gave him peace and quiet in his own house, at least, but the other three houses still whispered constantly. Had he been able to use his magic, Azriel would have hexed them all into oblivion by now.

His other classes were slightly better; Professor Quirrel, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, seemed to know his subject very well and started them off with what Azriel knew to be one of the most vital type of spells in duels: shields and nullifying spells. Of course, dodging was always preferable, as that saved one's magical energy for attacking, but without shields one could quickly forget winning against any well-trained duellist.

Azriel enjoyed Herbology immensely: he worked well with plants, and here was a subject where his overpowering of spells would not be a problem. Professor Sprout, the plump, kindly witch that taught the class, was easily the friendliest and most open of the professors – naturally, as she was Hufflepuff's Head of House.

By far the most fascinating subject, however, was Astronomy. Every Wednesday night they would climb up to the highest tower and observe the celestial stars and planets visible in the dark night's sky through their telescopes. They were required to learn the movements of the planets and the parallaxes of the stars, a task which Azriel set himself to with great fervour. He knew that perfect knowledge of the stars was the basis of real astrology, the art of divining the past, present and future through the influences of the celestial orbs high up in the heavens.

So far, though he was frustrated by his lack of progress in most of the subjects, Azriel disliked none of his classes. By the time Friday had passed, that had changed. Azriel did not dislike potions. He admired the gentle shimmering of the liquids in the cauldron, the mysterious way seemingly arbitrary objects combined to make such powerful brews. No, he did not hate potions. The professor, however… the professor was about as annoying as Draco Malfoy, and twice as dangerous.

Professor Snape was an imposing figure, with his flowing black robes and piercing glare. He reminded Azriel of Voldemort in a vague way, though he could not say exactly how. This fact alone made Azriel want to do well in potions; by the end of the first class he knew he would never get more than a passing grade in the class, no matter how excellent his potions turned out to be.

Azriel might find Snape merely annoying; it was clear, however, that Snape _loathed_ Harry Potter. Like Flitwick, Snape began the class by taking the register, and like Flitwick, he paused at the name. 'Ah, yes,' he said softly. 'Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity_.'

Draco and his cronies sniggered. Azriel ignored them, focused on calming his ire. Why did yet another person have to mention his _celebrity status_ in this world? He was starting to wish he'd stayed with the Dursleys; he might have been hated and abused by them, but at least they ignored him most of the time, along with the rest of the muggles.

Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class, fixing each of them in turn with his cold stare. 'You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,' he began. 'As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.'

Azriel sighed mentally. It had been such a brilliant speech up to that last sentence, such oratory skill… why did Snape have to destroy that effect with such an inane comment?

'Potter!' Snape said suddenly. 'What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

'You would get the Draught of Living Death,' Azriel answered immediately.

'And what, pray, is that exactly?' Snape asked with a sneer.

'It is an immensely powerful sleeping potion,' came the prompt answer.

Snape's lips curled. 'And where, Potter, would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?'

'I would look in the stomach of a goat.'

Snape's look of displeasure deepened. 'What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane, Potter?'

'There is none; they are the same plant, though the proper name is aconite.'

Snape's mouth was by now naught but a thin line. He looked as if he was about to ask Azriel another question, but thought better of it and said instead, 'Well, book knowledge isn't everything, Potter. Learning the course books by heart won't help you brew a potion precisely.'

Things went on much like this for the rest of the lesson. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. Azriel let Ron and Hermione partner up while he joined Neville, who was shaking with nervousness at the thought of brewing a potion under Snape's deadly glare. 'Calm down,' Azriel muttered to him. 'Just do exactly what I tell you and nothing will go wrong.'

And indeed, even though Snape hovered around the classroom like an overgrown bat, criticising everyone but the Malfoy brat, Azriel and Neville managed to complete the potion without any problems. None of the other's cauldrons exploded, either, though when Snape snapped at them at the end of class to bring him a sample of their work, Azriel saw that only very few potions were the opaque baby-blue described in their potions book. Snape took one look at the perfect potion that Azriel handed him and stared down at Azriel with pure hate shining from his eyes. Azriel wondered what he had ever done to incite the hate of the potions professor. Maybe Snape had been a Death Eater? But then why was he allowed to teach at Hogwarts?

'Uhg, I can't believe he gave us homework, too!' Ron groaned as they left the potions classroom. 'How am I ever supposed to write _ten inches_ on the use of nettles in potions for healing skin defects?'

'Our potion was exactly the right colour!' Hermione gushed. 'But I saw the look Professor Snape threw at you, Harry. What did you do?'

Azriel shrugged. 'Nothing, except for giving him no reason to ridicule me in class. The only way he can now insult me is by calling me a know-it-all or something like that.' He sighed dramatically. 'Poor, poor Snape. Deprived of his one reason to teach us "dunderheads"… maybe I should purposefully explode a cauldron next time just so he has a reason to shout at me?'

Hermione gasped at Azriel's irreverent talk, but giggled despite herself. 'Harry! You shouldn't talk about teachers like that! It's disrespectful!'

'If you explode a cauldron next time, can you at least make it _Malfoys_ cauldron?' Ron asked hopefully. 'I would love to see Snape's reaction to that…'

'Well, maybe not next time, but if Draco annoys me enough…' Azriel trailed of with a meaningful glare towards the blond further down the corridor. Draco had taken every opportunity to taunt Azriel, trying to get him to retaliate. Azriel amused himself by not even reacting to him and thus infuriating the Malfoy brat until he was the one who stormed off in a huff. Nevertheless, his constant verbal attacks were rather tiresome. Sometimes Azriel dearly wished he could just cut his vocal cords to make him be quiet for once.

That was another factor that added to Azriel's bad mood: here at Hogwarts, the only way he could release his frustrations was by meditating or practicing martial arts at five in the morning out on the grounds, and while that always calmed him down effectively, Azriel felt an ever-growing desire within himself to main, kill, cause pain. But it would be too suspicious if a student just vanished suddenly, and he couldn't just leave in the dead of night, as the wards around Hogwarts made sure no student could escape without notice. Azriel often thought with longing of the still-far away winter holidays when he could finally leave the castle and go hunting. Until then, he would just have to endure.

As if all that wasn't enough, Azriel still couldn't access his magic properly, and while it looked like all he needed was some time to get used to the ambient magic at Hogwarts, he knew he wouldn't ever be able to sense other people magically while he was here. Hogwarts' energy masked any other energy centres that were floating around. Azriel desperately needed to find some other way to sense when somebody was approaching, but he had a feeling he wouldn't find any books on the subject – and he was _sure_ such books existed – in the main part of the school library. He thought there might be something in the restricted section, but he couldn't use that section without a teacher's permission and he didn't know any teacher whom he would willingly tell his reason for wanting to use it, so for now his best bet was that book, _Darke Magics_ , which he had bought in Borgin & Burkes. But with all the homework they got and the extra practice Azriel needed to control the power behind his spells, he had hardly any time for any personal projects.

Their limited time was cut down even more when their flying classes started. All the boys had cheered when they saw the notice; the only thing that had dampened their spirits was that they had the class with the Slytherins. This annoyed Azriel double: for one, he would be wasting precious researching time on _flying_ of all things; for another, he would have to put up with the Malfoy brat. To add to Azriel's ever-growing irritation, suddenly everyone was boasting about their flying skills. If one was to believe their tales, all the first-year boys had spent half their life avoiding helicopters and almost getting spotted by muggles while flying over some obscure little town or other. Azriel only wished they would all shut up about their supposed exploits after their first flying lesson.

Thus it was that Azriel was almost glad when on Thursday they all trooped down to a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest. Both the Slytherins and the brooms were already there; Azriel was glad when their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived before Draco started aggravating him again. He was in no mood for stupid games today.

'Well, what are you all waiting for?' Madam Hooch barked. 'Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.'

Azriel took care to choose a broom that did not look too battered; none of its twigs were stuck out, at least.

'Stick out your right hand over the broom,' Madam Hooch instructed, 'and say, "Up!"'

'UP!' everyone shouted.

Even though Azriel had not raised his voice, his broom jumped into his hand at once. As he glanced around, he noticed with satisfaction that most other brooms were still lying on the ground. Finally something where he wasn't handicapped by his own power!

Madam Hooch went around and showed them all how to mount their brooms and grip the handle correctly. Azriel felt a small stab of satisfaction when Madam Hooch told Draco he'd been doing it wrong for years.

'Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,' Madam Hooch said. 'Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –'

before she had a chance to blow her whistle, Neville had already kicked off from the ground and was now rising higher and higher, eyes wide open in terror and face ghostly white.

'Come back, boy!' Madam Hooch shouted, but Neville's broom only spiralled further up, ten feet, twenty feet; Neville glanced down at the ground and lost his grip on the broom and with a thud and a nasty crack, Neville was lying sprawled on the ground, the broom floating off into the Forbidden Forest.

Madam Hooch leaned over Neville, pale and tight-lipped, carefully probing his wrist.

'Broken wrist,' Azriel heard her mutter. 'Come on, boy – it's all right, up you get.'

She turned towards the rest of the class.

'None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say "Quidditch". Come on, dear.'

No sooner had Madam Hooch led Neville away from the group that Draco started laughing.

'Did you see is face, that idiot?'

The other Slytherins joined in.

'Shut up, Malfoy,' Hermione said.

'Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom, are you?' Pansy Parkinson asked nastily. 'Want to marry him to get into the higher circles of society? Forget it, no matter what you do, all you'll ever be is a cheap Mudbl–'

'How _dare_ you insult her like that!' Ron growled, lunging at the girl. Azriel quickly grabbed the back of his robes before he could do anything that would get him in trouble. 'Don't, Ron,' he muttered lowly. 'We'll get her back later.'

'What was she about to say?' Hermione asked quietly, worry evident in her voice. 'Why is Ron so angry?'

'She called you a Mudblood,' Azriel answered just as quietly. 'It's one of the worst possible insults for a Muggleborn.'

Of course, Hermione _was_ a Mudblood, but he wasn't about to tell her that. After all, he had to play the good little muggle-brought up Gryffindor.

Draco evidently disliked the fact that everyone's attention had wandered away from him, for he picked up something glittering in the grass and said in an overly loud voice, 'Look what I found! It's that stupid glass ball Longbottom's gran sent him.'

Azriel suppressed a sigh of annoyance. Trust the Malfoy brat to stir things up.

Said Malfoy smiled nastily at the glaring Gryffindors. 'I think I'll leave this somewhere for Longbottom to find,' he said with what he evidently thought was a superior sneer. 'How about up on a tree, for instance?'

'Give it BACK!' Ron shouted, struggling to get out of Azriel's grip. 'Let him dig his own grave,' he muttered so only Ron could hear him.

Malfoy laughed at Ron and leaped onto his broom, flying towards the nearest trees and hovering near the topmost branches of the tallest oak to the applause and laughter of the Slytherins and the angry shouts of the Gryffindors. He seemed a little disappointed when none of the Gryffindors followed him, but he hid this with an elaborately dramatic gesture, placing the glittering Remembrall in a fork between two branches right at the top of the tree. With a victorious grin he flew gracefully back down and got off the broom with an elegant, mocking bow to the livid Gryffindors.

Azriel decided he had to step in before the whole thing developed into a brawl and they all got into unnecessary trouble. 'Let us play a game,' he announced loudly.

'A game, Potter?' the Malfoy brat asked with a derisive smirk. 'Come now, I thought you were more mature than that. Games are for _children_.'

Azriel smiled. 'Ah, but is not Quidditch a game, too?'

Draco scowled. 'That's _different_ , Potter,' he ground out.

Azriel shrugged. 'You do not have to play. But for anyone who's interested, here are the rules: find a partner and clasp hands. If at anytime during the game you let go of your partner's hand, you have automatically lost. If you or your partner step on a broom, you've lost. The game itself is simple: you must try to catch me. The pair that catches me first can name a subject of their choice. I will do their homework for them in that subject for a week. The game ends when someone catches me or when Madam Hooch comes back.'

Murmurs spread through the class. Slowly people found together and clasped hands. Finally even Draco joined in, though he complained, 'Why do we have to hold hands like babies?'

'Simple. Otherwise it would be far too easy for you to catch me.'

With that, Azriel sprang into the air, shouting 'BEGIN!' and the game was off. Azriel had chosen a rather small area around the brooms for the game and amused himself by running in one direction and, just when someone was about to catch up with him, jumping up into the air and landing ten feet away from the confused pair whose quarry had just vanished right in front of their eyes. Even more amusing was the fact that, since the playing field was so small, the pairs kept running into each other. He was so absorbed in this game that at first he did not notice Madam Hooch standing a few paces away from the playing field and laughing at her student's antics. Azriel leaped into the air again and landed a few feet in front of her. 'Game over!' he called to the other students. 'I won!'

'Well, _you_ don't seem to need a broom to fly,' Madam Hooch said with a laugh. 'What was that all about? And how did you manage to make Gryffindors and Slytherins play civilly together?'

'Well, it wasn't exactly civil,' Azriel said, 'I left a lot of room for sabotaging each other. Basically they had to partner up and try to catch me; I said I would do all the homework in one subject for a week of the pair that catches me.'

'So you were pretty confident you'd win, then?' Madam Hooch asked with a glitter in her eyes.

'Yes, that's right,' Azriel said, feeling better than he had in a long while. He hadn't killed anyone, but at least it had been quite a challenge to avoid ten pairs of overeager first-years. It wasn't ideal, but it had helped release at least a little of his frustrations.

'Alright everybody, return to your brooms!' Madam Hooch called. 'Lets finish this lesson quickly so you have time for all that homework which you will have to do all by yourself!'

There was a collective groan at the reminder that no-one had managed to catch Azriel. Azriel grinned at Madam Hooch who returned the favour with a sly smile.

The rest of the lesson flew past rather uneventfully, and just as the sun was nearing the edge of the horizon, Madam Hooch released them all to go to dinner. Azriel made sure everyone was out of earshot before he asked madam Hooch, 'Could you perhaps get down Neville's Remembrall from that tree over there? Malfoy put it up there while you were gone.'

Madam Hooch turned white with anger. 'He did _what_? I don't care how influential his father is, that boy carelessly put himself in danger just for a stupid schoolboy prank!'

Azriel shrugged. 'I would have held him back, but he doesn't exactly listen to me, and then we would have ended up with a huge fight between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. After all, it's not really my concern how he endangers his health.'

'He will be dealt with accordingly.' Madam Hooch said tightly. 'I don't suppose his father will stand having him thrown out of Hogwarts, but I'm sure we can organise a detention and relieve Slytherin of some points. Now, do you remember exactly where Mr Malfoy put the Remembrall?'

'Yes, I do,' Azriel answered calmly. 'Right up at the top of that tallest oak over there.'

'Very well, come with me and guide me where to where exactly,' Madam Hooch ordered, then mounted the broom and flew up towards the oak Azriel had pointed out.

'A bit more to the left,' Azriel called, 'Yes, now that fork there, between those two branches –'

'I've got it!' Madam Hooch said, flying back down and handing Azriel the glittering glass orb. 'Would you give this to Mr Longbottom, please? He should be out of the Hospital Wing by now.'

'I will,' Azriel answered gravely. 'May I take my leave?'

'You may,' Madam Hooch said with a smile. 'Go eat! You boys are always so ravenous.'

Azriel grinned and followed her advice. He _was_ rather hungry, but he wasn't exactly looking forward to dinner – there still was too much meat and not enough salad. He hadn't had time to search for the kitchens yet; perhaps the Weasley twins knew where they were? They seemed to know Hogwarts like their own pockets. Azriel filed this idea away for later and concentrated on getting to the Great Hall as fast as possible.

Most students had already started eating, Azriel sat down next to Ron who turned around and asked, 'Where were you?' spraying crumbs of bread al over Azriel.

Azriel shook them off distastefully and glared at Ron. 'Would you mind _not_ doing that?' he demanded angrily.

'Sorry,' Ron answered sheepishly around a mouthful of chicken.

Azriel shook his head; here was a hopeless case, it seemed. 'I got Draco what he deserves. Madam Hooch will make sure he at the very least gets a detention or two for flying when she had forbidden it.'

'Good for you!' Hermione said with a grin. 'I was hoping you'd inform her instead of doing something yourself as revenge. But why won't she kick him out? That's what she threatened us with, at least.'

'Yeah, but he's a _Malfoy_ ,' Ron answered with disgust. 'They're way too influential to simply be kicked out. And his father is on the board of governors. He'd never allow it.'

'We'll need to think of a suitable punishment for Pansy,' Azriel said, carefully steering the conversation away from the Malfoys and their unfair privileges. 'Telling a teacher won't work in this case, a few points off Slytherin won't teach her a lesson.'

'Well, I'm not sure we can punish her for it this time,' Hermione answered, 'it's not immediate enough. If we do something now, it'll just be petty revenge. But perhaps we can do something that will only affect her the next time she calls someone that…'

A slow grin spread across Azriel's face. 'I like that idea, Hermione. Preferably something that everyone can see, so her embarrassment will be public.'

'Maybe we can do it to all the Slytherins!' Ron said with excitement. 'That way, it won't be so obvious that we did it as revenge for Hermione!'

'That's an excellent idea, Ron,' Azriel said approvingly. 'Does either of you have any specific ideas? If not, we'll have to do some research.'

Both of them looked thoughtful for a moment, but then Hermione shook her head. 'Research it is, I suppose,' she said.

'Oh great, more time spent in the library,' Ron said gloomily.

'Oh don't worry, you'll learn to like it eventually,' Hermione said sweetly.

'And if I don't?'

'I'll _make_ you like it,' Hermione answered with an uncharacteristic smirk.

'Why does that idea not fill me with joy?' Ron muttered sarcastically.

'Probably for a good reason,' Azriel muttered back.

It would be the first evening in a long while that he would fall asleep with a relaxed look rather than a frustrated grimace.


	8. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue swiped from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

Over the next few weeks, Azriel's control over his wand bettered, and by the time his wandless ability returned fully, he was able to cast any given spell both with and without his wand without exploding anything even once.

After weeks of research, they had finally found the perfect spell to teach the Slytherins some manners and couldn't wait to see it enacted. It had been Hermione who had had the idea, but all three of them loved the concept. The only part of their little project that gave them headaches trying to find a solution to was how to get all the Slytherins at once, but when Ron had mentioned Fred and George always getting extra food from somewhere Azriel had finally found the answer to their problem: instead of bespelling the Slytherins themselves, they would cast the spell on the pumpkin juice that would appear on the Slytherin table. Ron had gone and asked Fred and George for the location of the kitchens; unsurprisingly, they seemed very well-known to the house-elves working there. Azriel was now finally getting the food he liked, they had a way to get the spell to the Slytherins; overall, everyone was rather happy.

They had decided that the less people knew the perpetrators of the spell the better, so they avoided talking about their plan near other people. This meant many late-night meetings in unused classrooms and being very careful not to get caught by Filch, oftentimes taking a route back to their dorms that led all the way up to the seventh floor, down into the dungeons and finally to the Gryffindor Tower. The fact that the stairs kept moving on them did not help, either.

Their luck ran out after their last meeting before the Big Day: as they rounded a corner on their way back to their dorms, they encountered a certain ugly cat glaring balefully at them. The three of them froze. Mrs Norris meowed gleefully before she turned around and vanished down the corridor.

'Oh no, she's gone to get Filch, what will we do, we'll be in so much trouble, we shouldn't be here!' Hermione moaned.

'Calm down,' Azriel said, 'panicking won't help us now. Let's take a different route.'

They doubled back and went through one of the secret passages everyone knew about whose entrance was hidden behind a tapestry depicting dragons battling trolls. Their efforts proved fruitless, however, when they heard Filch's voice a few corridors away saying, 'Come now, my sweet, where are those miscreants? Where are those naughty students? We'll string them up by their ankles in the dungeons. Maybe the rats will nibble their fingers a little, that should teach them to go to bed on time.'

Ron and Hermione looked at each other in disbelieving horror. Azriel motioned to them to follow him and crept down the stairs leading to the third floor. Behind him, Ron missed the first step and cursed, grabbing onto Hermione to stop himself from toppling down the stairs. Azriel closed his eyes for a moment in annoyance. There was no _way_ Filch hadn't heard that.

'Run,' he whispered, then took down one of the corridors, through the door disguised as a coat of armour, and right into a locked door. He fumbled with the lock for a moment as Ron and Hermione came up behind him, then gave up and shot a careful ' _alohomora'_ at the door. The door swung open and the three of them quickly crowded inside, trying to catch their breath as the adrenaline pumped through their veins. Azriel pressed an ear to the door, trying to hear if Filch was coming after them. All was silent outside. Behind them however… he turned around in trepidation and was confronted with a beast straight out of a child's nightmares: three huge heads, each the size of a small car, mouths open and dripping with saliva, rows of teeth sharp and gleaming. Without allowing the fear to overcome him, Azriel leaped into the air and, with three rapid kicks, knocked the giant dog-beast out cold.

Hermione and Ron were looking wide-eyed at the felled monster. Finally Hermione found her voice. 'Is-is it dead?' she asked haltingly.

'No, I just knocked it out,' Azriel answered. 'More importantly, did you see what it was standing on?'

'Well, the floor obviously,' Ron ventured.

'It was standing on a trapdoor,' Azriel corrected. 'The dog is guarding something.'

Ron brightened. 'You think there's a treasure? If we find it, we'll be rich!'

'No, Ron; if a three-headed dog is guarding it, then it obviously belongs to someone,' Hermione said patiently, 'either to Dumbledore himself or to a friend of Dumbledore's, otherwise it wouldn't be in Hogwarts in the first place.'

'Oh. True,' Ron said in a disappointed voice.

'We should leave, the dog will wake up any moment,' Azriel interrupted, pointing to the three-headed monster which was slowly starting to stir.

'Yes, yes we should,' Hermione said hurriedly, opening the door and motioning for the other two to get _out_ of there right _now_. Neither of the two was loath to follow her directions.

Once outside, they quickly scampered through the castle towards the Gryffindor Tower, intent on avoiding both Filch and Mrs. Norris. They did not meet anybody on the way, but just when they thought they were safe, they were confronted with the next problem: the portrait that guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor tower was empty. It seemed the Fat Lady had gone on a midnight visit to one of the other portraits in the castle.

'It's just not our day today, is it?' Ron groaned as they stood in front of the empty frame.

'Now what?' Hermione asked helplessly, ignoring Ron's exclamation.

Azriel shook his head. 'I'm afraid we'll have to wait,' he said. 'Unless you have an idea, Ron?'

'Well, we could get some brooms from the broomshed and fly up the Gryffindor Tower to see if someone left a window open.'

Azriel opened his mouth to answer when a cough made them all whir around in shock.

'Misters Potter, Weasley; Miss Granger, what are you doing out here at this time of the night? Shouldn't you be in bed?' McGonagall asked in a stern voice.

'We're sorry, Professor,' Azriel answered for all of them. 'We were studying in one of the unused classrooms and quite forgot the time, I'm afraid.'

'That's all very well, Mr. Potter, but why weren't you studying in the library or in your common room? There are more than enough places in Hogwarts to study where you will be reminded to go to bed on time.'

'Well, we can't discuss what we're studying in the library, and the common room is too noisy most of the time,' Azriel replied.

'Your desire to study is commendable, Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid you will have to watch the time more closely in the future. I will not take any points –'

At this Hermione sighed in relief.

'– but you will each receive a detention.'

Ron groaned. Professor McGonagall ignored him.

'I will give you the exact time tomorrow. And since the Fat Lady seems to have returned, you can now go to bed. I wish you all a good night.'

'Goodnight, Professor,' the three of them chorused dejectedly.

'Pig snout,' Hermione told the Fat Lady and they clambered into the common room. There were still quite a few people about, especially from the upper years, mostly studying or chatting quietly in twos and threes. With a shared nod they decided to talk about the evening later, after a good night's sleep. Ron and Azriel bade Hermione goodnight and climbed the spiralling staircase up to their dormitory.

As they got ready for bed Ron murmured to Azriel, 'Well, now we know why Dumbledore warned us not to go to the third floor corridor…'

Azriel nodded silently. That they did, indeed.

XXX

The next morning found the trio sitting quietly at the breakfast table, sleepily munching pumpkin bread and drinking pumpkin juice.

'Not that it's not delicious,' Azriel mumbled, 'but why are we having pumpkin bread for breakfast? The house-elves don't usually bother with anything that extravagant in the morning.'

Hermione looked at him strangely. 'Haven't you noticed the date yet? It's Halloween tonight!'

That revelation startled him; he'd been in Hogwarts now for almost two months. He felt a little guilty for forgetting one of the most important festivals of the year, but his self-depreciating thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of an owl that landed on the edge of his mug of pumpkin juice and held out one leg towards him while staring balefully. Looking closer, Azriel saw a slip of parchment tied around the owl's leg and untied it. The owl didn't budge from its place.

'What now?' Azriel asked it, annoyed. The owl hooted at him. 'What do you want? Food?' He broke off a bit of the bread that he'd been eating and offered it to the owl. The owl gobbled it up and flew off.

'Finally,' Azriel grumbled as he took a swig of his pumpkin juice and unrolled the parchment with his free hand.

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the Entrance Hall._

_Prof. M. McGonagall_

Ron, who had gotten the same letter, groaned loudly. 'Great! We'll miss half the party! Couldn't she have chosen some other day?'

'Well, it _is_ supposed to be a punishment,' Hermione said matter-of-factly. 'Professor McGonagall probably chose today on purpose.'

Naturally, this did not cheer up Ron one bit and he continued to be morose throughout the rest of the day. The prospect of finally learning the levitation charm in Charms lifted his spirits slightly, but when Hermione managed the spell on the third try and Azriel on his fourth (the first time, he had accidentally used both wandless magic and wand magic and hat shot the feather they were trying to float straight through the ceiling), he became rather grumpy again. Hermione, who had been partnered with Ron, tried to help him perform the spell correctly but even so Ron only managed the spell a minute before the end of class.

'Well, at least you managed it in class at all,' Hermione told him as they walked down the staircase towards the Great Hall, 'look how many people couldn't make their feather float at all! Neville and Lavender and Seamus – Seamus just managed to make his feather explode again! He's such a pyromaniac – and you, Harry, I thought you'd gotten over your issue with overpowering your spells?'

'I thought so, too,' Azriel replied ruefully, 'but I did get the hang of the spell pretty quickly.'

'What do we have next, by the way?' Ron asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. 'Honestly, Ron, I can't believe you still haven't got our schedule memorised, it really isn't that difficult! You should know we have Herbology now.'

'Why should I waste my memory if I have you?' Ron mumbled. Hermione glared but otherwise ignored the comment.

Herbology turned out to be pretty crazy that day. In honour of Halloween, Professor Sprout had taught them the many uses of pumpkin in wizardry (mainly in appearance-changing potions and potions for cleaning talking mirrors) and had shown them how to make a pumpkin-shaped hat from the leaves of the pumpkin plant. Through some spell-gone-wrong shot by one of their classmates, they all had the hats stuck immovably to their heads. Professor Sprout hadn't been able to get rid of them with any banishment or unsticking charms and had told them the spell would fade after a few hours and until then they would just have to wear them.

Thus it was that the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first-years earned many strange looks and – from the Slytherins – derision and ridicule. Azriel held his peace, though, and managed to prevent his companions from doing anything untoward. He had not forgotten what would happen during the Halloween feast.

Just before the feast that evening, Azriel quietly slipped off to the kitchens. The house-elves greeted him with their usual exuberance, attempting to give him cakes and muffins and biscuits and all manner of other sweets that Azriel politely declined.

'Which one is the juice for the Slytherins?' he asked the house-elves.

'This one sir, this is the one! Does sir want to cast the spell now?' The house-elves answered noisily.

'Yes, that is right. Would you mind getting out of the way? I don't know how the spell affects house-elves.'

They all scrambled to get to the other end of the huge kitchen, where they all stood in a row, watching him Azriel with bulbous eyes. Azriel ignored his audience and concentrated on the spell he was about to cast.

A minute of muttering later and the gigantic jug of pumpkin juice glowed blue for a second. Azriel sighed in relief; the spell had been rather complex, but the blue glow indicated that all was well. He turned to the watching house-elves and said, 'You won't tell anyone, will you?'

'Oh no, the house-elves won't, Harry Potter, sir!' One particularly enthusiastic house-elf squeaked. 'House-elves keep their word!'

'Good,' Azriel answered. 'It was nice talking to you all again, but I really must leave now. The feast is about to start.'

These words resulted in a sudden increase of activity as the house-elves realised they had wasted time watching a spell and frantically tried to finish all the food in time. Azriel shook his head in amusement over their antics and climbed out of the painting disguising the entrance to the kitchens.

XXX

'Where were you?' Hermione asked anxiously when Azriel joined his friends in the Great Hall. 'We were looking everywhere for you!'

'I was doing some last-minute research,' Azriel answered, looking meaningfully at Ron and Hermione. Hermione's eyes widened in understanding, but Ron asked, 'last minute research for what?'

'Oh come on, Ron,' Hermione said in an annoyed tone of voice. 'You know, that extra credit charms assignment we've been working on for the last few weeks?'

'Oh. Oh!' Ron's ears brightened as he realised he had forgotten about their little project.

'Have they all drunk the pumpkin juice yet?' Azriel asked the other two.

'I think so… wait a moment, I'll check.' With that, Hermione surreptitiously took out her wand and pointed it at the Slytherins underneath the table. A moment later, she reported, 'Marcus Flint hasn't. Neither have Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass.'

The trio started covertly watching the three Slytherins. Marcus Flint was the first to fall, taking a big gulp out of his goblet as the trio glanced at each other in suppressed triumph.

Nothing happened for a long time as the three tried to continue eating and keep up a superficial conversation while still watching the two Slytherin girls like hawks. Finally, after she had finished her main course, Millicent Bulstrode took a few sips of the pumpkin juice. Azriel grinned in satisfaction at his co-conspirators.

They were approaching pudding when Azriel finally lost patience with the Greengras girl. With the tiniest bit of magic he dried out her throat and sent a signal to her brain that screamed 'THIRST!!!'. She immediately responded, grabbing her goblet and swallowing half of it in one go. The Gryffindor trio grinned at each other victoriously.

'Hermione, stare at one of the Slytherins for a while,' Azriel suggested. 'That should provoke the reaction we want…'

Hermione smiled vindictively and proceeded to stare at Draco Malfoy. It did not take long for Pansy Parkinson to lean over towards Draco and whisper something to him – and sure enough, ugly purple patches burst out of her pores and started spreading over her skin. Draco flinched back from her in shock as he saw what was now written right across her face in block letters: MUDBLOOD.

The trio watched with glee as Pansy cocked her head questioningly at Draco, who produced a mirror from his robes (Ron snorted at Malfoy carrying around a _mirror_ ) and held it up in front of her face. Her shrill shriek turned the heads of everyone in the Great Hall and everyone started murmuring frantically among themselves. Was Peeves behind this again? Was it the revenge of some muggleborn? Yet another prank of the Weasley twins? Divine intervention? A few more Slytherins were afflicted with the same malady in the process of the wild speculation before they figured out not to actually _say_ the word that was now written across quite a few faces.

It was rather like Voldemort's Dark Mark, Azriel reflected as he surveyed the chaos contentedly, surprised at himself that he hadn't thought of that earlier. The spell itself was rather complicated, but the idea behind it was simple: a certain action triggered a certain reaction. In this case, every time the person bespelled uttered the word 'Mudblood', that same word would appear tattooed across their face. The first time, the tattoo would stay visible for a week; afterwards, it would only reappear for a day or two every time the spell was triggered.

Before the rumours about the cause of the Slytherin's new facial beautification could get _really_ ridiculous, Dumbledore conjured a firecracker and caused it to explode in an ear-splitting blast. Everyone's attention shifted to the High Table.

'Now, would anyone care to tell me _why_ the Slytherins seem to be afflicted with an unusual case of magic-induced acne?'

Silence filled the Great Hall as Dumbledore looked down upon the students sternly.

'No? Very well. Would all the affected students please visit the infirmary after the feast; I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will be able to restore your youthful complexions in a jiffy. Now, please resume eating. We wouldn't want to miss such a wonderful feast, after all!'

XXX

Eleven o'clock found the trio waiting in the Entrance Hall for the caretaker to arrive. They did not have to wait for long; all too soon Filch appeared with a lantern in one hand and an evil grin on his face.

'Follow me,' he said, walking towards the entrance without glancing back. 'I bet you'll think twice about breaking the school rules next time, eh?'

Azriel bit back his amusement. The problem was not breaking the rules, the problem was getting caught.

'Ah, it's a pity they got rid of the old punishments,' Filch continued with a wistful note in his voice. 'Hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, that always cured the troublemakers… I still have the chains in my office, I keep them well-oiled just in case.'

Azriel carefully filed that information away for potential future use. It was always good to know where the torture and killing devices were.

'But no, your Head of House has decided on something more productive today,' Filch went on with a leer. 'You'll be going to the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid today.'

'But isn't that – well, forbidden?' Hermione asked in a high voice.

Filch grinned at her. 'Why, you have a special permission today,' he answered gleefully.

Azriel looked up as they approached Hagrid's hut; the gibbous moon was shining from the heavens with a rare orange glow. It was a beautiful night. Now if only he could somehow get away from his companions…

'Coming!' Hagrid called when Flich knocked on the door hut. A dog barked wildly and they heard Hagrid say, 'Back, Fang!'

The door opened and Hagrid emerged from within, holding a struggling black boarhound by its collar in one massive hand and a few black velvet pouches in the other.

'Ah, good, yer here. Thanks, Filch, I'll take over now.'

Filch gunted and smiled nastily at the trio before turning back towards the castle.

'Righ. Well, we'll be colectin' a very rare plant tonigh'. It only grows where unicorn blood was spilled and blooms when the ligh' of an orange moon shines on it. We had an injured unicorn here just two weeks ago, and since nothing in the fores' will touch unicorn blood, the plant should be in full bloom now.'

He gave them each one of the pouches. 'In there yeh'll each find a silver knife; use tha' ter cut off the plants at the base – be very careful to leave the roots, mind yeh – an' put 'em in the black pouches. Only cut the ones with flowers, though; the others're worthless. Now come along, I'll show yeh where yeh can' start.'

He led the trio down the path along the garden patch behind the hut and into the forest. They walked silently for a while, Azriel enjoying a rare moment of peace while the others were probably too frightened of the tall, ominous trees growing ever thinker around them as they went deeper into the forest.

Finally Hagrid called a halt. 'See tha'?' he said, pointing at a spot a few feet in front where the moonlight was glinting brightly off something. 'That's the unicorn blood. The trail continues in that direction,' he continued, pointing to the left where Azriel could see glimpses of glowing white between the black trees. 'I sugges' we split up now so we can get enough of the plants before the moon changes colour again. Two of you stay here with Fang, an' I'll go on with another.'

'I'll stay,' Azriel volunteered. Perhaps he could get some privacy after all.

'Then I'll stay too,' Ron said.

'Great, I'll go on with Hermione, then!' Hagrid said. 'Don' worry, you two, I won' be very far off, an' if yer in trouble, jes' shoot some red stars up an I'll come.'

He had Azriel and Ron practice until they could both produce a bright burst of red sparks from their wands.

'Great, we'll be goin' then. Jes' remember only ter take the ones with flowers!'

Silently the two got to work. Ron crouched down right by the path, not daring to go in deeper, while Azriel moved in a little further in search of the still-unnamed plants. Perhaps he'd ask Neville about them tomorrow.

He had been collecting the plants for about five minutes when in a flash of blue, a piece of parchment appeared in the air in front of Azriel's eyes. He grabbed it before it could fall into the blood and looked around surreptitiously. Thankfully Ron hadn't noticed the flash and was still bent over his patch of blood. Quickly Azriel unfolded the note and tilted it so the moonlight fell on the writing.

 _Azriel,_ it said,

_I have a task for you to complete this year: somewhere in the school, Dumbledore has hidden away a certain very valuable object. Find it and bring it to me when school ends._

There was no signature, but Azriel knew who it was from. With a quick thought, the parchment crumbled to dust between Azriel's fingers, dulling the shine of the unicorn blood underneath. Azriel gazed at it, pondering the contents of the letter.

It seemed the school year was about to get very interesting.


End file.
